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Feng Tao

Absent-minded Child of Fire.

0 · 661 views · located in Norr

a character in “The Gift: Chapter Three”, originally authored by Kurokiku, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

Full Name: Feng Tao (pronounced "dow")

Age: 22

Gender: Male

Race: Deep Human

Class: Myrmidon, if you want to be exact about it. Feng specializes in combat with sharp, pointy objects of greater than a foot in length, though heā€™ll be the first to tell you that in the right hands, anything is a weapon. Heā€™s fast, unnaturally so, and far too quiet, mostly because he wears only the lightest of armors, sacrificing protection for mobility.

The tenets of his class demand smooth, fluid movements across a battlefield, constant awareness of oneā€™s surroundings, and efficiency. Enemies are not often toyed with, though the level of creativity involved in their dispatching is only limited by the mind generating the ideas. An acrobatic agility serves him well, and though such a person will not bowl over large hordes of the opposition, they can and will cut swaths in themā€¦ provided they have the skill, of course.

Physical Description: Image
Credit
Though those of his blood are most often pale, white-haired children of the caves, Feng has never lived that kind of life. Spending most of his short duration in the sun has taken the edge off the stark, ghostlike complexion he was born with, though the reddish-brown color of his hair is entirely artificial, ostensibly so he blends in a little better. Itā€™s kept on the shorter side, though still in need of some kind of restraint, lest his vision be obscured.

Though he was raised without the finer things in life, he seems to have acquired a taste for them, if his wardrobe is anything to go by, anyway. He is most often strangely-dressed, the silks and rich colors more reminiscent of lamia and deep human nobility than anything else, the garments themselves acquired through less-than-honest means. When on the field of battle, heā€™s a bit more practical, of course, and the Children are all rather uniform in raiment, so white it must be. His footwear consists of wooden sandals, fashioned so that they are basically straight , thin platforms of wood which stand on two smaller slats. At first glance, they seem both uncomfortable and difficult to balance in, but Feng doesnā€™t spare it a second thought.

His face still retains a good dose of childish roundness, though his jaw has squared off a bit. Eyes on the ochre side of brown generally have a flat look to them, as though he werenā€™t able to focus properly on the things in front of him. One of them is bisected by an obvious scar, where apparently a jagged claw was raked across his face. Even the eyelid has the mark, though the eye beneath seems oddly undamaged. His other one sports a white tattoo, which doesnā€™t seem to be of anything in particular.

Feng is built leanly, and stands none too tall at around 5ā€™9,ā€ attributable largely to his heritage. Wouldnā€™t want to go around bumping oneā€™s head on cave ceilings, after all.


Personality
Feng isā€¦ unusual. The phrase ā€œnot all thereā€ seems to be a common way to put it, and perhaps itā€™s as accurate as anything else would be. Unless heā€™s been told itā€™s time to start killing things, heā€™s also entirely harmless, and disinclined to start trouble with anyone.

His absentminded demeanor is an external sign of what makes him extraordinary: his mind seems to be hardwired differently from most of them, and this has both benefits and drawbacks. His pain receptors, for example, trigger adrenaline when activated, which isnā€™t all that strange, but they do not induce fear, panic, or even the instinct for avoidance of future pain. So, cut him with a sword and heā€™ll feel it, but he wonā€™t see any reason to care. At all. Ever.

While he experiences the standard range of human emotion, his unique chemistry makes his reaction to just about anything completely unpredictable. He might carry on a perfectly normal (wellā€¦ normal for him) conversation with someone he has every intention of killing someday, or studiously avoid someone he rather likes, because his own bizarre trains of thought have led him to believe these are the appropriate things to do. He rarely remembers names, even if theyā€™ve been told to him scores of times, and sometimes he forgets even simpler things, like what he was doing five seconds ago.

To a psionicist, his mind is largely incomprehensible. It has a surface much like glass. Smooth, reflective, and with nothing to latch onto. Beneath this are seemingly random swirls and eddies of thought that only barely touch upon the relevant, and searching around for his most painful hangups is likely to yield his storied internal debate over whether or not potatoes or yams are the most favorable starch. So while he has almost nothing in the way of mental fortifications, he doesnā€™t need them, because his mind itself is so strange as to be infuriating, and itā€™s rather useless to try torturing him for information, either, given his unconventional reactions to just about everything.

Of course, all of this makes ordinary function something of a problem, and sometimes he forgets to eat or that he was supposed to go see someone about something. He mostly remembers the important things, but sometimes only just, and if someone makes enough of an impression on him, everything but their name will stick. For this reason, he often refers to people by monikers that are descriptive rather than nominative. For all intents and purposes, the only thing heā€™s good at is fighting. Everything else is just sort of a haze in between battles.

During an actual fight, he seems to gain a bit more in the way of mental acuity, though it would be a mistake to equate this with strategy as traditionally conceived. Feng is often placed on a field with the express purpose of finding and killing officers or other important folk, sowing chaos in his wake. Truly, any strong opponent will do, but he has little taste for killing ordinary footsoldiers. The surest way to distract him from his damaging purpose is to present him with a sufficient challenge, at which point he is likely to ignore all earlier directives and focus on matters at hand.


Faction: Children of Fire. According to Feng, he owes his allegiance to ā€œthe burning oneā€ which most people have interpreted to mean Nihalistrix.

Moral Alignment: If he can be said to have an alignment at all (and thatā€™s a big ā€˜ifā€™) it would most likely be true neutral.

Starting Armor: Over the white robes of the Children of Fire, Feng wears a red brigandine reinforced with dozens of small mirror plates. The overall protection is durable, especially against arrows, but light. He also keeps bracers underneath the flowing sleeves of the robes. His trousers are gathered at the ankles, looser about the thighs, and overlaid with shin guards.

Starting Weaponry: For Feng, battle is a lifestyle, and basically anything a weapon, from his bare hands to tree branches to chairs to pottery. That said, he prefers to keep things simple, and fights most often with his liuyedao, a moderately curved, single-edged sword that may have been the only thing his mother left behind.

Fighting Style: Up close and personal. Heā€™s absolute rubbish with anything ranged, and has displayed no magical or psionic talent that anyone is aware of, including himself. Which makes the fact that he frolics around on a battlefield with little armor and survives something of a mystery.

Itā€™s easily-enough solved, though why it is heā€™s faster than any of his Children brethren is as much a perplexity as the original question. Certain psionics users are able to make themselves stronger and quicker in the same way he is, but tests have confirmed that it isnā€™t psionics and it isnā€™t magic. The last healer to take a look at him threw up her arms and declared that he must just be a lucky idiot. Feng isnā€™t sure, either, but unlike everyone else, he seems to know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He also has the traditional augments that a Child gets, including yet more strength, resilience, and the handy ability to breathe fire at will.

His martial training emphasizes fluidity, agility, and precision, appearing effortless even though a definitive amount of effort must be exerted to do any of it. Any fool can learn to swing a sword; Feng has learned how. Angles are important, as are considerations of the opponentā€™s armor, positioning, and style. Versatility and flexibility will save you more often than a tower shield, and so he embraces the former while eschewing cumbersome methods of defense.

Weapon of Choice: His liuyedao, or, barring that, his hands and anything he can get them on.

Other: Feng carries those things necessary to keep his sword and armor in good condition, some water, and a bit of food. Thatā€™s it.

History: Lian Tao was, many years ago, a relatively little-known captain in the ranks of the Civil army. Deep human by descent, she practiced a graceful, but pragmatic style of martial arts that made her a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield and her squad one of the most successful in the war. An ambitious, cunning woman, she recognized the coming of the dragons as an opportunity to get one up on those who would resist and secure her allies a place in the future of Norr. She and her entire battalion defected and joined with the Dragon Lords.

It was at some point in the nebulous middle of these two stretches of her life that Lian, never particularly free with her affections, nevertheless ended up expecting a child and unmarried. Never one to let events rule her, she rejected the further affections of the childā€™s father and went into seclusion for a while, during which itā€™s largely unknown exactly where she was or what she was doing. Five years later, she returned to the service of the dragons, little boy in tow.

For the rest of her too-short life, the only thing the woman placed above her work with the Children of Fire was the tutelage of her son, whose quixotic mannerisms she embraced, knowing how useful it would be for him to be able to deflect most forms of psychic interference. As parents do to children in such times, she taught him of her skills, and was pleased when he took to them well.

She died in an early engagement with the Legion of Ashes, though not before taking a good fifty men with her, or so the story goes. Feng, a teenager at the time, did not take his motherā€™s death very well, or at least he didnā€™t seem to, appearing very agitated for a period of several weeks and making a habit of leaving those that came into his company with grievous bodily injuries. Though not until that time a combatant himself, he had been following military camps all his life, trailing behind with the whores and wives and younglings. He fought with the Children from then on, taking his own vows as one of them at the rather tender age of fourteen.

So begins...

Feng Tao's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Neira Valtegan
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The Children of Fire
The Tower of Nihalistrix the Black


Being seven feet and two inches from the ground was usually enough to make a person pretty intimidating. Being replete with corded musculature and bright, silver-white scars criss-crossing what nut-brown skin was visible only helped. In the end, though, it was probably the red haze of battle-rage that ensured that Vortigern Weylin had to seek his opponents more often than they sought him. The elvish man paused to get his bearings, heedless of the blood matting in blond hair or soaking his new robes through. A quick assessment of what was going on about him, and he was at the side of the pretty-winged nightmarian girl, sturdy shortsword hacking through the neck of the deep human whoā€™d been attempting to get a sneak-shot in. The blade lodged against bone with a dull scrape, and the berserker simply left it there.

ā€œMight wanna use yourself some oā€™ that steel, lass,ā€ he mentioned with a wink, nudging his toe under the handle of a nearby mace. ā€œEven if you have some oā€™ the fancy mind-magic, canā€™ get too distracted, yeah?ā€ With a swift motion, he kicked upwards and flipped the weapon into the air, taking hold with the first four fingers of his other hand, the final digit being missing for some inexplicable reason. Blunt force wasnā€™t his favorite, but he knew how to use it effectively. The haft of his axe between his teeth muffled whatever he said next, as he took a two-handed grip on the mace to beat back some fool who thought he was distracted just because he was talking. Really now. Anyone who could work himself into a major temper and still have the wherewithal to stay alive wasnā€™t going to lose focus while running his mouth.



The carnage was everywhere, and it was glorious. So thought Nihalistrix as she flew over it, the passing of her immense shadow distracting a few long enough that they took deathblows for their trouble. Alighting on the dais, she observed for a while, blinking languidly, for all appearances rather nonplussed about the whole thing.

Inwardly, she was pushing back her insane delight and calling upon a much more dangerous trait: a feral cunning that ensured her success over the other Lords in acquisition and matters of warfare. Balenforethus may have the stronger hatchlings, and Astara might be losing less of her people on the open field, but Nihalistrix was winning, gaining ground on all those pathetic meat-creatures, and for that, she was duly proud of herself. These victories were not dumb luck, and they were not only a matter of numbers. The youngest Dragon Lord was not without a vicious, animalistic cleverness, and these tests were designed not only to discover which among the competitors was best with their armament, oh no. Here, she would discover just who was willing to follow any order she gave, regardless of their own personal thoughts on the matter. She knew for a fact that her followers were not all fanatical and insane; this fact was indeed of great use to her. Ethne had not become a Thane because she shared all of her mistressā€™ thoughts. Rather, obedience was key, especially when faced with daunting obstacles like magic, psions, and overwhelming numbers.

One group had drawn a single other off to the side of the main fray, but the solid tactics were countermanded by the fact that they were clearly inferior armsmen. One group, dusted orange, and mostly lumped into a semicohesive unit, seemed to have the best mix of personnel, but were hampered by a lack of cooperation and the fact that she was not the only one who had noticed this. Two other factions moved in at once upon the rusty-cloaked fighters, their differentiated coloration suddenly making them very easily distinguished targets indeed. It was going to be a desperate fight for them, and unless they managed to pull themselves together, they were going to lose it.

She glanced around the rest of the room, noting the pile of corpses next to Fengā€™s location with clear amusement. None of the corpses were burned, but all had clear weapon-damage, usually thin slash wounds. A few were obviously missing limbs or heads, though this did not appear to faze the man standing in their midst in the slightest, and indeed his robes had not a spot on them. Queer little thing, he was, but then Nihalistrix had never minded that.



The Paragon
Kelem Prison


Neira straightened, wiping the gore from her face with a dark sleeve. Blinking twice in quick succession, she refocused on the members of her platoon, nodding in satisfaction when she noted that none of them were dead. As part of the vanguard of this mission, however, they had taken considerable damage, and more than one would need a healer quite quickly if they wished to keep the breath in their lungs.

ā€œLenaluin, Vinā€™atharā€¦ get Daethor to the healing units, and be quick about it. Miramel, Karthak, take the others and go help with restraining the prisoners.ā€ All heads nodded simultaneously, but she did not require the banality of salutes or sharp responses. She was accustomed to being obeyed, and validation was unnecessary in the extreme.

As for herself, the task was rather simple: being stronger than most beasts of burden meant that on occasion, she would put herself to use finding other injured parties and ferrying them to where they needed to go. Of course, there was simply no way she was going to admit to doing such a thing, as all in all, charity was rather beneath her, but she could see the necessity of it. So most often she sent the offending parties to sleep beforehand, unless doing so would kill them, in which case she secured her anonymity with very creative threats.

It seemed, though, that very few were so injured as to be unable to move themselves, and so she instead found herself standing beside Beelzes and one of the new-bloods, an orc. Thanaros had mentioned his name was Torga or something, but it wasnā€™t her practice to care much until she had reason to. Heā€™d survived today, but he might be dead tomorrow, so what was the point? It wouldnā€™t stop her from talking to him, though. ā€œSo,ā€ she addressed to the both of them, ā€œIā€™m guessing thereā€™s something old Redscales didnā€™t tell us about this.ā€

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Kisikoni Ayalen Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Zulii Ma'kaurubaen Sleekfeathers
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The Children of Fire
The Tower of Nihalistrix the Black



The recruits were given the rest of the day and the night that followed to rest and recuperate as they chose. It was early the next morning when they were awakened, and dawn was only just painting her rosy hues across the sky.

Shasarra, who had been enjoying a nice roost, grumbled several unpleasant things when the sergeants came to rally the troops, and she found herself forming up into a semi-orderly queue with the majority of the other surviving hopefuls. They were shuffled out into the same hall that theyā€™d fought in but the day before, only now it was pristine and without the slightest trace of the carnage that had taken place the day before. Captain Tao was leaning against one of the roomā€™s many pillars, arms folded in his sleeves, and appeared to be asleep standing up, not that she was fooled.

The harpy found herself situated between a purple-skinned nightmarian woman and the dark elf from yesterday. She was ultimately a pragmatic soul, and so did her best to ignore the fact that theyā€™d been trying to kill each other the day before, sparing him a nod before her attention was drawn forward.

A Thane was at the front of the room, though it was not the same elvish woman whoā€™d done the speaking yesterday. This one was male, and human of all things from the look of it. There were flecks of gray dusting his already-light hair, and for this she suspected that he was somewhat into his middle years. Humans grew so slowly and died so quickly that it was hard to tell, though. There was something about him that made her feel distinctly uncomfortable, and she shifted her tawny wings with traces of unease. The man was flanked by seven of those red-robed magekin, all of varying shapes and sizes, but none looked anywhere but at the Thane himself, and his attention was focused solely on Aesr, who had taken up a spot on the dais where her mother had resided the day before.



Vortigern thought she looked kind of silly like that, as the platform had clearly been made for a creature of a different size, but of course he wasnā€™t going to say such a thing out loud. Fearless berserker or not, there was only so far he was willing to go. Fortunately, his caution did not extend to the sadistic witch-doctor beside him, and he shot her a friendly grin, a bit wild due to the fact that one of his eyeteeth was chipped, not really mindful of the vehemence of whatever response she should choose to give. When he wasnā€™t busy hacking into things with horrendous ease, he was quite the mellow sort, after all.

ā€œWhat dā€™ya reckon? Summat in me bones tells me thisā€™ll be magic, but I kinnae say I know much about it.ā€ He was asking her, of course, as she seemed to be the only magical sort without her mouth sewn shut. His brain put two and two together, and he grimaced slightly. Hopefully that was a volunteer thing; it seemed rather gratuitous otherwise.



Maratharn, the present Thane, cleared his throat, and allowed silence to descend upon the room before he turned to the Captain. Seeing that the manā€™s eyes were closed and posture relaxed, he scowled and coughed again, less discreetly. When that didnā€™t work, either, he huffed impatiently, and gestured to one of the Silenced, who nodded and lit a small flame, sending it flying toward the errant officer without a word of warning.

The captainā€™s eyes snapped open, and for a second, there was an expression of startlingly-clear anger on his face, before it clouded over into his usual haze and he mildly sidestepped, gesturing to the troops to follow him and approach the dais as though nothing had just happened. The flame guttered out on the stone of the pillar, leaving the gray stone blackened. The group moved forward until they stood before Aesr, who appeared to be inspecting them with an air of appraisal before nodding to herelf. Upon closer examination, it would now be evident to all those present that she stood before a raised stone pillar about the height of a man, upon which rested an enormous earthen bowl.

The Silenced fanned out until they, Aesr, Feng, and Maratharn formed a rough circle around the recruits. Aesr was in front, the captain to the left right angle and the Thane to the right. As one, all removed some form of pointed object from their clothing or immediate surroundings, save the dragonling. Not one broke the moratorium on sound, not even when they collectively raised the blades to their wrists and made a ritual incision, allowing the universally-red liquid to drip with the barest of whispers to the stone below.

The seven were not idle, however, and each was working the same spell: the initiation. The liquid pooling on the floor resolved itself into a perfect circle by a collective effort of their wills, and flared with some unholy internal light before bursting into flame, impossible as it seemed. The licking tongues of fire seemed to signal something, for at last Aesr herself moved, raising her foreleg to her own great jaws and biting down. It would seem that dragons bled black, as the ichor that dripped into the bowl was devoid of any color whatsoever. Reacting with whatever ingredients had been placed in the receptacle beforehand, it took on an eerie green hue and a faint radiance, throwing her scaly visage into sharp relief.

ā€œDrink of it, and understand our strength.ā€ She said simply, and then silence fell once more.

One by one, they did as she ordered, and the effects were immediate. There was an internal shift in the very constitution of their being, as though some new connection existed, an internal pull in the direction if Aesr, and through her, Nihalistrix. So, too, was there some inward understanding of camaraderie, as though each were not quite his or her own anymore. Indeed, the connection wound through them all, channeled through Feng and Maratharn and Aesr all the way to the Lord herself. Nothing more than a tickle in the back of the mind, but recognizable as foreign all the same. With it came what felt much like a surge of adrenaline, and the unwary would soon find that the same muscular efforts produced much more force now than they had before. An errant sweep of Shasarraā€™s wing knocked a nearby orc to the ground, and his feet actually left the ground as he pushed himself back upward, the look of surprise on both faces almost comical.

Gradually, a hum of voices overtook the room, and all but Feng and the recruits left it as silently as they had come. For his part, the captain watched his troops, something akin to pity crossing his face, though he doubted that any of them were paying enough attention to notice. Right now, they would be discovering that their physical strength had almost doubled, and it would be a difficult adjustment to make. Heā€™d wait for it to sink in before he did his job and gave them the resources they needed to deal with it. Luckily, none of them would yet be able to breathe fire, else he really would have some work on his hands.



The Paragon
Talos City Square


Talae Shanir approached the Paragon encampment, insofar as it could be called such a thing, feeling strangely out-of-place under the oppressive sun. Her detachment was not one of those known for their affinity for those places in which they could be seen, being more inclined to the dark and dank corners of the world. Still, even for them, travelling by night was not always an option.

It scarcely seemed like sheā€™d bathed that morning anymore, what with the heat seeping into her skin. She glared up at the offending celestial body as though that would convince it to let up, but in the end simply snorted derisively. If she did that for too long, sheā€™d end up as blind as-

ā€œFakā€™ir.ā€ The word was intoned softly, but with an unmistakable air of command. The man in question, a curiously dark-skinned halfling with white-blond hair, straightened immediately despite the oppressive heat.

ā€œYes, Captain Shanir?ā€ The lieutenant inquired sharply.

ā€œMake our report to the general. The rest of you, be at ease. Rest for now, and try to stay out of the sun if at all possible. Iā€™ll resupply and then go retrieve our orders.ā€ There were precious few opportunities for her platoon to rest, experienced as they were at going those places an entire army could not. A palpable collective sigh of relief ran through the soldiers, and she smiled slightly to herself. They worked impossibly hard sometimes; it was no stretch to say that they deserved a break.

It seemed as though she were not the only ranking officer inclined to make a trip into town at this point; she spotted quite a few people she knew making much the same route. Glancing up at the sky she was unsurprised to see a large golem, far enough aloft to be mistaken for a bird by anyone without sufficient experience. That would be Lily, doubtless.

The dark elfā€™s eyes dropped earthwards and leveled out in front of her, mapping the most likely course to her destination. Sheā€™d prefer to make this quick, so as to arrive back in enough time toā€¦ a retreating figure caught her attention, and Talae immediately moved without really bothering to consider it, drawing up next to perhaps the most familiar face of them all. ā€œSupply run, Koni?ā€ she asked flatly, casually. Of course, that was far from the question she really wanted to ask, but that answer was something he had to decide to give. It ate at her, that she had no idea what happened to him when he fought, moreso now that she was no longer around to watch his back should the repercussions prove too much to handle at some point.



Neira sifted through the goods on the weapons cart with distaste, taking inventory as she went. As a rule, she disliked weapons made of wood and steel, and personally never used them. The same could not be said of all the members of her division, however, and she acknowledged that it was better to give them exactly what they needed to be as efficient as possible at killing things. To this end, she had developed a rather discerning eye, and was entrusted with the funds required to restock the Paragon from local smiths. They were short on maces, it seemed, and bows, mostly. Swords were always around, though they might need a few more of the two-handed kindā€¦ it was also useful that she was capable of carrying all these things at once.

Someone else was rummaging around, and she spared a sideways glance, only to see the orc that had completely ignored her three days before. She sneered without bothering to hide it, but decided it didnā€™t really matter and dropped the expression. ā€œWhat are you looking for?ā€ she asked, though her tone admittedly contained a bite that a neutral question would not have. ā€œIf itā€™s something too special, we probably donā€™t have it, but I am making a trip into town shortly, so if you have a request, I will hear it.ā€ No other promises, of course. The nightmarian woman promptly went back to what she was doing, as she really didnā€™t care whether he answered or not, chitin-encased hands picking swords up by the blade without noticeable reaction, sorting them into more distinct piles by type. Few people bothered, but it made playing at quartermaster a bit easier.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Kisikoni Ayalen Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Mercy Yan'vega
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#, as written by Arke
Kisikoni Ayalen
The Paragon


Image Whether or not the white-haired Child deigned to assist Kisikoni or not, the bags were still packed and ready to go in a timely fashion. He did not get to talk to Talae, and their exchanges were disappointingly brief as they tended to their duties. Marches were the worst part of being part of an army. The battles held the shadow of death over each soldier's face, but at the same time the march foreshadowed the upcoming trials, and how tiresome it was to move such long distances by foot or horse. Even though he was a captain and thus be allowed a horse in any regular situation, the Paragon was not so well equipped and Kisikoni could never understand the damn beasts anyways. Riding had always given him the worst sores and the shortest of tempers. A good leader should never lose their cool, after all. The days passed by as the monotonous blur of travel overrided his senses.

Even as they arrived to Talos City and set up an encampment, Kisikoni's work never really ceased. He was always working on something to keep his mind from wandering into more cynical and darker areas. It seemed to be happening more and more often, not because of the presence in his mind, but because of the situation as of late. Everything just seemed to be so grim. Nhil Derenthi, one of the few original Generals from the Civie-Primah wars had turned on the Paragon and the Primah, had turned his back on the Paragon. Whatever was going on through his kinsman's mind, he did not know. However, when examining the situation it seemed inevitable that the Paragon would have to conflict with the Civil Armies and the Children- both sides having powerful numbers and magical augments. The Primah were of a concern too, but after Derenthi's betrayal there was no way they could wage an aggressive war until they had more numbers.

Even as he finished unloading a wagon of supplies near the mess hall, in case the soldiers did not want to waste their coin dining in the city, he realized that they were low on salts and preservatives. Scowling slightly, he knew that if he didn't do something this would be nagging on his mind the entire day. He walked to the stables, borrowing a pack horse. Throwing some saddlebags onto the horse, he lead the beast from the stables. It was slightly uncooperative, but it's training and years of experience told it that resisting was just a bad idea all around. At least the human wasn't riding him.

As Kisikoni walked the horse toward a town, he noticed somebody moving to catch up with him. To his surprised pleasure, it was Talae. "Yeah. Can't have our meats spoiling at this point." He responded to her query. Perhaps in the past, he would have attempted a poor joke, but with all this tension weighing him down he just didn't have the heart to make one up. The question itself wasn't what he really wanted to discuss, either. What he wanted, and decided to talk to Talae about was very hard to put into words coherently. Worst of all, he didn't want to really burden her with his problems now that they had so much responsibility as captains. However, if he didn't tell somebody, Kisikoni felt he would probably go mad.

All the better for me. It taunted, a malicious glee entering it's tone as it reveled in the Deep Human's dilemma.

"I guess it's time to make good on my promise." He said plainly, in an urgent and low voice. "Listen, Talae- something happened back at Herrick. Maybe even before that, I don't know. Something is inside me, and I'm not sure what." He tried to explain it as best he could, even as the walked down the path toward the city and down the cobblestone roads inside it. "I'm trying to control it, but it seems to laugh at my attempts. Like I'm a child. Each time I use it's power I feel myself ripping up, physically and literally. It's so strong it accidentally breaks my bones and tears my muscles." He looked away, pretending to search for the markets. They were fairly close at this point. "I'm sorry for dumping all this on you. I've been meaning to tell you when we were... not so occupied, but our wyrds have a different say in the matter." He apologized, leading the horse toward the salt stall. As occupied as he was, he would have been completely unaware of the hitmen moving throughout the crowd if it weren't for the voice.

I'd hate to interrupt your touching moment, but I'd expect to see a blade or otherwise very soon. Though the words were formed in a joke, the tone was very serious.




Mercy Yan'vega
The Paragon


Image Mercy didn't take too kindly to the Red's disdain, but her obvious lack of self-control was reward enough. She couldn't stand the dragons, prideful and condescending that exceeded even her own levels. However, even as Iridanias left, Wrath shot her a look that almost made her flinch back in guilt before she reminded herself that she was the boys mother, for the love of the Queen. She stared back as coolly as she could, but he was already gone. That disappointed look Wrath had given was so similar to that of his father it brought back a flood of memories. She signed, parting once more. Maybe he'll be in a better mood when they reached Talos City. Moving back toward the prison, she quickly scaled over the wall and landed in the courtyard with a soft thump. Humming a quick tune, she began stretching out each limb in preparation. Spiders were not accustomed to traveling long distances, due to their ambushing nature. However, Mercy had grown to adapt to it since she left the dark recesses of Umbridge and had to hunt instead of wait for food to come. Traveling had been no different.

The march was long and hard, as she expected. No matter how many times she would do this, she still hated it. By the time they had stopped and camped at Talos City, Mercy had sweat enough to attract every firebug from Ecclavaria with her scent. Her legs were tired, and her luminous red eyes were half closed with fatigue. She knew she needed a bloody drink, or she'd pitch over and die. However, first thing was first. She quickly moved to a nearby water source, as cities and towns depended on them for power, food, and cleanliness. She quickly tossed away her things onto the shore, and hopped in, cooling herself. The summer heat was nothing compared to the sticky humidity of the dark forests that was her home. The cool dip was to relieve her limbs briefly and to wash away the sweat. it was the worst for her abdomen, as her ark shell didn't allow anything in or out aside from the end where her webbing was generated. It felt like a furnace back there. Getting out, she cupped her arm over her bare chest and winked slyly at the men who tried to sneak a peek. Half of the blushed furiously, much to her delight. Tossing back on her clothes and bags, she skittered quickly toward her tent. She flipped open the flap, setting down on the stack of hay in the middle. Sighing, she grabbed one of the multitude of bottles she had retrieved and stashed in the stack. With an experienced finger, she flipped the cork off the bottle and began consuming the contents in large gulps.

It wasn't long until she experienced the faint buzz, and a pleasant heat building up in her face. That was just what she needed. She'd resisted the bottle until they actually stopped traveling, as it wouldn't do to get blindingly drunk while marching. It nearly killed her, she had intense cravings at various intervals, and she couldn't help but feel that her son did this to torment her. Flopping foward, she lazily turned her waist, rotating a full 180 degres so she could lie lazily on her back, downing the rest of the bottle. That really did hit the spot. Blearily, she reached for another bottle, her hands patting the area around her for the familiar smooth surface. However, lingering fatigue from the journey claimed her before she could enjoy getting drunk. Her hands fell still, and her breathing became slow and heavy. It was midday.




Safir Garethson
The Children of Fire
Image


Safir could not find the Nightmarian moth, so he shrugged and decided to outfit himself with some armor. Finally. He reached the table, and thankfully found his mother's shield, which had not been taken. Retrieving it, he quickly belted that on his back. Never again would it leave him voluntarily. He did not find his father's set of armor, but he did find something very similar to that. It was newer, which was a plus but it didn't have the reliable feeling that his father's armor did. Snorting, he realized he was standing there comparing armor though he was no blacksmith. He took the set, hefting it and checking it for breaks and weak seams. Finding none, he smiled and decided to fit himself to it, strapping the belts and whatnot under his robes. It went quite nicely, easily molding to the curves and heavy fabric. His old armor would not have been able to do that, admittedly and the Children seemed to value the idea of an army acting as one. The uniform probably was meant to enforce that ideology. Either way, he grabbed the matching helmet and strapped it on, as well as grabbing a good broadsword. The sword was light enough, but was dense and forged well. Sheathing it, he carried that with him to a bed of his own, stuffing the stuff in the chest at the foot of the bed.

He immediately proceeded to clean himself off, taking a brief but hot shower. Stepping out, he quickly dressed himself. It was odd- the people around him were standing in nothing but their undergarments. The very same people that were trying to kill him not an hour earlier. The sense of security was almost palpable, and even if Safir had the intent on murdering somebody, he probably could not muster up strength to do so under this calm atmosphere. It was almost as if everybody trusted each other to a degree. Perhaps it was because they fought each other, and acknowledged each others ferocity. Leaving the locker rooms, he proceeded back to his own bed, where he stretched out his sore limbs and threw himself under the covers to get some rest.

The wake-up call wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be. The entire days worth of sleep helped him rest off the fatigue very well, though he was still tight and sore in many places. The bruises that he had decided not to heal due to its trivial nature were purpled and slightly sensitive, but Safir had gotten used to those types of injuries by now. Tossing on some good clothes, he put on his robes over them. He decided his armor was probably not necessary yet.

He did not see Dresinil, who was probably still recovering or dead. He didn't know what was the fate of his battle brother, but he was fairly certain the elf wasn't dead unless Gatan had punched him so hard he had a heart attack. A gout of dragonfire interrupted the Knight's thoughts, which had been directed at the androgynous captain. The movement was so fast and graceful Safir would have thought the man had simply stepped out of the way in pure coincidence. Forced to grudgingly acknowledge the man's skill once more, Safir's breathing slowed conspicuously as he noticed the change in atmosphere. Whatever ritual was announced, it was beginning. Altogether simple, it was nevertheless impressive. Even as the Dragonsblood filled up the space, waiting to be consu

wait.

what.

He had to drink that? The local apothecary at his village didn't brew anything that looked this vile. Even as he hesitated, many were already cupping the unholy liquid. The crazed witch-doctor was one of the first. He sighed. He was in this deep, there was no excuse to duck out now. He plunged both hands into the liquid, sucking in a mouthful and swallowing. By the dead gods, there was no way he could describe this taste. However, the surge in his innards was the worst. Looking around, he knew that he was taking this change the worst, by far. His body never really was fit for all that magic business. Even as he caught his breath, displays of almost laughable accidents happened. An elf tried stretching, and his jaw dropped as both arms popped out of it's sockets. A nightmarian accidentally sliced her own stomach open when attempting to scratch it absentmindedly.

Well, this was new. Safir saw this, and tried to be careful- but his body now felt foreign. Light. Stepping forward was so disconcerting, that he stumbled, falling forward. On instinct, he threw his arms out to break his fall, and as a result there was a resounding "boom" as his arms cracked the stone floors slightly with the impact, leaving very faint craters. And sprained wrists with broken fingers. He now realized the reason why mages didn't just give the soldiers superhuman strength and speed the hard way. Getting up, he angrily refrained himself from swearing as adrenaline turned into pain. He was already regretting this, now he'd need to train himself to get used to this change.

First, he needed to find a healer.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Kisikoni Ayalen Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Mercy Yan'vega
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The Children of Fire
The Tower of Nihalistrix the Black



For a few more minutes, Tao let the recruits get some sense of what was going on with their bodies. A few cracked bones in their overzealousness and lack of familiarity, and he recalled with a distant kind of fondness that much the same thing had happened upon his initiation. As if on cue, a single silenced appeared at his shoulder. He knew who she was without having to look, and spoke with his eyes still fixed ahead.

ā€œCarmen, please see to the injured ones.ā€ The youthful woman, one of the few true Clerics (and few true humans) in the ranks of the children, nodded and stepped forward, scanning the group and first picking out a man wearing armor who appeared to have broken one of his hands. Tao, not being the sort of person who could remember names most of the time, immediately labeled him Big-Shiny-Target, Shiny for short.

The effectively-mute Carmen approached Safir and gestured for him to relinquish his injured limb to her. As soon as he did so, she prayed. Now, the reason there were so few clerics left in the world was fairly obvious: the gods that they prayed to were long-dead. Nevertheless, whether it was because she had some command of holy magic on her own or for some other inscrutable reason, she was still able to do exactly what her father and grandfather had done before her. Safirā€™s more delicate bones rearranged themselves with only slight discomfort, set into place, and were good as new within seconds. She smiled at the knight (having been taught that such people were usually of a good kind), and moved on to the next. There would be many more before her day was over.

As soon as everyone was patched up, Tao spoke. ā€œNot very nice, at first. Thatā€™s what the rest of today is for, though.ā€ Glancing at Jivven, he nodded slightly. ā€œShort-Snarky has anticipated how to handle it. If any of you know martial forms or katas, now is the time to use them. If you donā€™t, Iā€™ll teach you some. Call Carmen if you accidentally wound yourselves.ā€

Speech quite thankfully over with, he proceeded to teach those that did not know a series of basic, smooth movements, designed to flow from one right to the other. Understandably, the pace was to be slow, since it was all an exercise in control. They really just had to get used to their own muscles again, and gain a consciousness of where they were in relation to other things. It wasnā€™t physically taxing, so he did not stop them from speaking to one another. Occasionally, someone got a bit too ambitious, and Carmen would again flit through the crowd, healing an injury and returning to her place a short distance behind him and to his left.


The Paragon
Talos City, Supply Caravan


Hm. The orc complained of steel-melting fire. This much, she could understand; it melted arc-shell as well. Much as she liked to pride herself on the fact that her natural armor was as much weapon as defense, she was no better off than any other in this regard. Pausing for a moment in her motions, she glanced sideways at him. ā€œGenerally, nothing does. The easiest way to deal with a fire-breathing Child is to slit the throat before they can exhale. It backs up and immolates them.ā€ She shrugged. ā€œOtherwise, stay out of the way.ā€

She scanned the steel he was holding, and thought about it for a moment. There were precious few smiths willing to do work for the Paragon, and even fewer still who would do so on the move. ā€œTake it to Mialee. If he canā€™t do anything about it, he might know someone else who can.ā€ Turha was mostly an artificer of golems, but that required a wide knowledge of how to work materials, and there might be some kind of enchantment that could fix the thing.

His lingering inability to make a decision was vexing her, though, and she gave a small exasperated sigh. ā€œIf it is effectiveness you seek, versatility is important.ā€ If he couldnā€™t figure out that she was suggesting he not carry two weapons of the same kind, that was his loss, and she wasnā€™t going to do anything about it.

A familiar voice broke into her mind before she could say anything else, and her red eyes flickered to the opposite side, her face cracking into a not-entirely-healthy smile when she caught the characteristic twang of a crossbow being fired. The arrow stopped in midair inches from her left eye, and she sent it flying back at the offending orc, still trying to look nonchalant so as to (presumably) escape notice as soon as she died. Heā€™d have to try a little harder than that. Though Neira desired to lodge his own projectile into his throat, she embedded it within his shoulder instead, causing his grip on the crossbow to slacken.

ā€œYou. You can do earth magic, yes? How about stopping this one from going anywhere, hm?ā€ Technically, she could have bound his limbs herself, but that would require constant upkeep, whereas a spell would be a simple matter of cast-and-leave. Though killing the fool was an attractive option, the chances were slim-to-none that there was only one traitorous moron in their midst. They were like cockroaches that way, but the talking ones could be painfully interrogated.

Check on the general. Technically, she couldnā€™t really order Xeron around, but this was about as close to a polite request as Neira ever got, and he was unlikely to refuse to do something that actually made sense when it mattered.



Talos City, Markets


The tone of Kisikoniā€™s words immediately set Talae on edge. She had never known him to inflect anything for dramatic effect alone, which meant that whatever it was was of grave important. She listened quietly, without response until heā€™d concluded. Even then, it took her a moment to process everything, and she hadnā€™t realized sheā€™d stopped walking until he was continuing ahead of her.

The revelation hadnā€™t been turning over in her mind for more than ten seconds before her sensitive ears picked up a sound that did not belong here, and she immediately dropped to the ground. ā€œKisikoni!ā€ she shouted, but any further words would be useless as a warning. The bolt intended for her embedded itself in the wooden side of a nearby building, and she was back on her feet in seconds, drawing the sword from her back, eyes tracing the trajectory of the quarrel, only to see nothing.

Puzzled, she looked around, and determined that the moving cart had to be the target. Gritting her teeth, the dark elf woman bounded after it, launching herself into the bed of the cart and immediately shoving one of its occupants off with her foot, leaving two. One was too shocked to react quickly enough, and the business end of Abel was shoved into his throat for his trouble. The other was quicker on the uptake, though, and drew a one-handed sword. The close quarters meant that the advantage was his, for the smaller, more maneuverable weapon would work within the confines much better than her hand-and-a-half.

Sheā€™d never stepped down from a challenge, though, and she wasnā€™t about to start now.



Paragon Encampment, Soldiersā€™ Tents


Fakā€™ir, having been raised in an arid desert climate, was not particularly bothered by the heat that seemed to have everyone else moving sluggishly. So instead of attempting to sleep it off after his little check-in with the general and Captain Sid, he figured taking a walk couldnā€™t hurt.

Squinting and looking upwards, he gauged it to have just hit the middle of the day, not that the time was of any particular consequence. It was just one of many habits heā€™d picked up and retained over the years. Glancing back down, he passed a couple of villagers in what appeared to be the summer clothing of this region. Suspicion being another of those things heā€™d never bothered to lose, he wondered what they were doing so close to this section of the camp, anyway. This wasnā€™t where the Paragon conducted business- this was where the soldiers slept.

With a deft flick of his wrist, the halfling pulled and twisted the shadows immediately around himself, slipping into the shade of a tent and disappearing from view. For now, he would simply follow, and watch. If they moved on, heā€™d perhaps berate himself for being too cautious, but if they didnā€™tā€¦ theyā€™d have a surprise on their hands, now wouldnā€™t they?

Jumping from shadow to shadow, quietly enough to be concealed from all but the most acute eye, he waited. They seemed to be moving further into the camp, but his immediate inclination to kill them was tempered by his Captainā€™s voice in his head, reminding him that taking life was often necessary but never ideal. When sheā€™d decided such a thing, he had no idea, but he respected her enough to heed her advice.

When the two figures drew knives and sprang upon a single tent, though, he felt quite justified in blinding both of them with his command with darkness. They were making enough noise on their own to alert whomever was inside that tent, so he decided for the moment that remaining hidden was to the best advantage of both himself and whomever he was inadvertently assisting here.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Kisikoni Ayalen Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Mercy Yan'vega
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The Paragon
Talos City, Supply Caravan


Neira watched without the slightest hint of pity as the terramancer encased his foe in an earthen fist, following up with blows from his own, much fleshier ones. If he was in danger of killing the fool, she supposed she would intervene, as dead men told very few tales, at least to anyone but that Darenthi bastard.

A series of wet cracks and pops were all Torga received for his trouble as it seemed the brigand was not speaking. With a whispered sigh, she approached and placed an hand on the orcā€™s shoulder. ā€œThis is accomplishing nothing.ā€ She squeezed a bit, and her facial expression, mostly neutral but quite serious, made clear the double-intention of the gesture. She was at present standing with her hand over a vital pressure point, which she could manipulate at her leisure, and he would stop his assault on the prisoner. ā€œI recommend you save your vengeance for those against whom you need the edge, not the hapless souls already at your mercy.ā€

With a shrug, she released him as soon as he backed off and oversaw the transport of the fool, now thoroughly subdued, to where Xeron was working his psionics on a few more prisoners. Interesting; not an isolated incident, then. That made sense, as while quite confident in her skill, Neira was not terribly important in the grand scheme of this army, and targeting her alone would have been beyond stupid.

Xeronā€™s verdict surprised her somewhat, but she did not question it. If that was what heā€™d seen in their minds, then thatā€™s all that was there. She knew well enough that he was skilled in his trade, and no such folk as these would be hiding anything from him. The fact that they had yet to capture the captain was somewhat disheartening, or it would have been if she considered herself to have a heart at all.

ā€œChances are, heā€™s around somewhere, thoughā€¦ I think there might be bigger problems to deal with.ā€ She eyed the group of approaching civilians speculatively, then turned to the general. ā€œMight want to use your words here, Captain. Unless youā€™d rather I talk to them?ā€

Dead gods knew that wouldnā€™t go over well.

Talos City Markets


Talae, thrown from the moving cart, landed rather less jarringly than sheā€™d been expecting. Her vision swam for a bit, though she was acutely aware that the only injuries sheā€™d actually suffered were blunt traumas, and she wasnā€™t bleeding anywhere. Still, she lingered on the cusp of consciousness, scarcely able to make out the swirling shapes of the black tattoos that moved as if alive across the fair skin of Beelzesā€™s face.

As soon as her breath was once again properly situated in her lungs, Talae squirmed out of the warlockā€™s grasp, feet alighting on the ground without difficulty. When she attempted to support her weight, however, she lurched forward, only able to compensate with years of training in balance and fluidity. She wasnā€™t doing herself much credit right now, but that was a matter to be ashamed of later, not now.

She cast her glance to the side, noting her unconscious opponent. ā€œThanks. That oneā€¦ back to General Wrath,ā€ she garbled, then shook her head slightly. ā€œKoni. Where is he? I think he was shot. I need to tell himā€¦ā€ sheā€™d forgotten what, exactly, but sheā€™d remember soon enough. Right now, her priorities were to reassure herself that he was alive, then drag the prisoner back to camp. Then, maybe, sheā€™d actually go get those supplies she needed.

Paragon Encampment, Soldiersā€™ Tents


Chaos had erupted inside the tent, and Fakā€™ir could only surmise that the blinded assassins were being roundly dealt with. He wasnā€™t exactly sure whose dwelling this was, but as soon as one of the former combatants was ejected from the premises covered in spider silk, he had a pretty good guess. Of all the targetsā€¦ the fool should count himself lucky to be alive.

Not that this would necessarily remain the case for long. Relinquishing his cover of darkness, the sun-darkened halfling approached the confined man, who had taken up shouting while trying to free himself from his bonds. Unamused, the desert-dweller dealt him a measured blow to the temple with a knife-hilt, rolling his viridian eyes when silence at last reigned once again.

Were he a different kind of man, Fakā€™ir might have complained about doing janitorial duties for someone else, but as it was he was a soldier till his last breath, and so he saluted the tent (or rather the half-sane nightmarian inside it) and set about moving the gift-wrapped assailant to the center of camp without protest, figuring that Captain Yanā€™vega was unlikely to bother doing so herself. For someone of his diminutive stature, he was no pushover, and transport was more a matter of finding the leverage than the strength. Eventually, though, muttering a string of colorful oaths in a lilting language quite different from the common tongue, he was able to roll the unconscious man into a line of similarly-indisposed individuals awaiting mental examination by the weird dark elf man who had apparently defected from the Children.

He caught the nightmarianā€™s words and scowled. ā€œProbably wonā€™t make a difference,ā€ he pointed out pragmatically. ā€œYou ever known the populace to listen to reason once they have it in their heads to lynch a body?ā€ He spoke from bitter experience, but masked it with general gruffness.

The Children of Fire
The Imperian, a Ghost Town That Shouldnā€™t Be



Three days after their powers were bestowed upon them, the Aesr were deployed for the first time, transported to a location just outside what was once a thriving trade center in the Imperian, and an early conquest of Nihalistrix. Aesr herself, presently shaped much like a dark elven woman, had been at the forefront of this conquering army, and had expected the sight of the town to bring her much satisfaction.

As it was, she was screaming like a banshee and like to tear someoneā€™s eyes out. Theyā€™d arrived at the periphery of the town before sheā€™d known that anything was wrong, but when her suspicions had been confirmed, sheā€™d been positively incensed.

There was nobody here. The entire town, still intact and standing, bore not one trace of mortal life, and it was as if theyā€™d all spontaneously vanished. Doors to buildings hung open, swinging eerily on their hinges in the westbound breeze, and though her eyes darted back and forth over the landscape, Aesr could not pick out the reason for the desertion.

ā€œWhat is the meaning of this?ā€ she shrieked to nobody in particular. This was not how her first solo command was supposed to go. They were supposed to march in, crush the small Paragon resistance that resided here, reestablish their hold on this place, and leave again, blooded and ready for greater things. Glaring about at all of her soldiers, she grew increasingly frustrated when none was able to provide her with a satisfactory answer. Not even that idiot- wait. Where was her Captain? ā€œTao!ā€ She grit her teeth when there was no immediate response, and rounded on Carmen. ā€œWhere is he?ā€

The Silencedā€™s ridiculously-blue eyes went wide, and she shook her head emphatically, holding both hands up and in front of her in an attempt to placate the angry dragon. Aesr realized that a trail of smoke was coiling from her nostrils and took a deep breath. Turning back around, she bumped right into the object of her search, whoā€™d apparently heard her summons and appeared. Aesrā€™s hands curled into fists; she was surrounded by imbeciles. Her angry tirade was forestalled when the deep human pointed at something. Following the trajectory of his arm, she noted scorch marks on the ground not too far from where they were.

ā€œThe rest of the city is likewise marked,ā€ he informed her, and he sounded so inappropriately chipper about that that she considered tearing one of his arms off. No, no, heā€™s more useful to me whole. They all are. It was a few moments before she realized exactly how humiliating this particular revelation was.

Her mouth worked for a few seconds with no resultant sound before it caught up with her brain. ā€œOf course,ā€ she said, covering her shame with arrogance. ā€œMagical interference. Fine; we march further, then. Weā€™ll find who was responsible for this, and punish them.ā€ Her words were firm, but the Captain raised a speculative eyebrow. This was directly contradictory to her motherā€™s orders; they were supposed to avoid no manā€™s land. But, untested as her soldiers might be, Aesr was approaching desperation to prove herself, and beyond the tactical repercussions, she cared not how many she had to lose to do it.

Tao himself shrugged and motioned to the rest of the troops, setting out at the front of the group. Ordinary march pace, problematic only to those who werenā€™t used to it. Carmen fell back to mingle with the others, allowing her presence to soothe in the way it sometimes tended to. Besides, she was not much of a combatant: though holy magic did have destructive capabilities, she was not accustomed to using them, given the rarity of proper healers. She wound up beside the knight from the other day and the pretty purple moth-woman.

Shasarra marched a distance behind, being one of the only people comfortable walking within ten feet of Zulii, though she hadnā€™t tried making conversation since the second day of training, and that hadnā€™t gone too well. Instead, she spoke to Jivven. ā€œSomething tells me this wasnā€™t the original plan,ā€ she drawled with a hint of sarcasm. That much was obvious from the fit Aesr had been throwing, but she wasnā€™t exactly sure what they were supposed to do now.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Kisikoni Ayalen Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Mercy Yan'vega
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#, as written by Arke
Kisikoni Ayalen
The Paragon


Image The runaway wagon carved a path of confusion in it's wake, and while there was the poor soul that was run over there was no lasting damage until it promptly crashed. Kisikoni was barely able to keep up, and was slightly relieved when the wagon's rampage came to an end. At the same time, a bud of worry erupted in Kisikoni's chest, wondering the fate of Talae until he noticed a crowd gathering around a separate area. He pushed himself near the front, looking over the shoulders of spectators and saw Talae in the arms of Beelzes. She didn't look terribly injured, and Beelzes was cheerful as usual. Satisfied that Talae was in good hands, he attempted a quick signal at the deep human before disappearing back into the crowd. Truth be told, after everything that had recently transpired he wasn't too eager to be alone with Talae. It would be incredibly awkward, and she definitely needed time to take in everything she had told her. He also had a horse and preservatives to retrieve, and it would be best if they were separated. Other enemy assassins or bounty hunters would be forced to split up, thus weakening their forces. With Beelzes, Kisikoni was certain that Talae could take on any threat.

Eventually, he would have to talk it out with others- his specter problem wasn't slight enough to be brushed off, especially with it laughing in his head at the notion that it could be tamed. Talae was the only one he trusted so implicitly with the full weight of the knowledge, though he was aware that the Paragon had an inkling of his state. After all, Pel had been assigned to him as a personal medic. He cringed slightly at the thought of the halfling, halting the guilt before it could take root in his heart.

The elf he had killed would be of no use to the Paragon, but the unconscious dark elf may yet yield some answers. The third man, who had been impaled by Talae's blade was unlikely to have survived, and even if he did, would probably have been gone by now. He jogged past the stalls they had been attacked, without giving the body that was still sprawled on the cobblestone a glance. He would have to either bring the body to Xeron or Wrath to determine whether he would be of use, or bring a report back. The man was dead, and from what he could tell did not look anything special- especially so due to his average level of skill in fighting. He retrieved the pack horse, thanking the shopkeepers once more. Though they looked disgruntled, their day brightened considerably when Kisikoni tipped them a couple of coins for the trouble. Leading the horse back around, he brought it over to a merchant who was selling spices. After a quick exchange, Kisikoni dutifully loaded several bags of salts onto the horse, which seemed to take on a slightly disappointed appearance. He took the last one and threw it onto his shoulder, using a free hand to grab the horse's reins and begin leading him back out of the city.




Mercy Yan'vega
The Paragon


Image What in blazes was all the racket about? Mercy groaned, blearily rubbing her voluminous red eyes. The entire camp was in an uproar for one reason or another, and Mercy resolved to find it and squash it so she could go back to sleep. A half-empty bottle was clenched tight in her left arm as she got up unsteadily and burst through the flaps, eyes fiery. Seizing a nearby soldier, she inquired about current happenings. The soldier, unused to the generally lewd nightmarian's antics gave a nervous response. She supposed the idea of assassins would explain the rude intrusion earlier. Speaking of which, the web-wrapped men she tossed out earlier had not remained in front of her tent, so she assumed they were taken away to be questioned. A pile of turned over dirt, no doubt a trail left by somebody attempting to move the web-stricken individuals lead her to where all the action was happening.

Stumbling over, she took a swig of the increasingly light bottle and clasped a hand onto who she believed to be Xeron. "You're tellin' me, that our security is so bad letta'couple of guys enter my tent ta'tryna kill me?" She slurred, trying her best to sound indignant but failing horribly. Half her eyes were unfocused and dormant, which wasn't helping her attempt either. Releasing her grip on Xeron's shoulder, she swayed slightly while turning to regard the bunch of captured men. She burst out laughing when she saw one that was beaten to a pulp. "Who, who did that? He or she deserves a promotion!" she cried, slapping one of her knees in mirth. Sighing, she drained the rest of the bottle and used the end to poke one of the prisoners gracelessly. "I dunno' fellas, none of these guys look like they know anything." She slurred, incredibly late on the uptake. She quickly lost interest in the faceless goons, taking a more prominent interest in finding the leader so she could sleep in safety. Whoever saved her probably wouldn't be there to catch her when she fell if it happened again. "Hoo, well I'll go an' check the storage and check the storage to see if he's stealing anything." She said, turning and raising an unsteady hand.




Safir Garethson
The Children of Fire
Image


Three days was just enough time for Safir to regain comfortable control of his body. No longer did he accidentally crush his bones in a fall or pop a joint out of it's socket with a swing. He could not say the same about Dresinil, but he seemed well enough off to join them on the mission that was announced to their leader- the unpredictable and unnerving Aesr. Once again, magic was utilized, and they were transported to a huge city. Safir's first emotions were that of frustration. Why the hell did they go through that triple-pace march for hours if they could have simply teleported to the tower? His second thoughts was that of how quiet everything seemed. Looking around, he finally noticed that indeed, everything was empty.

What were they doing here? The only logical assumption that Safir could make was that they were doing some grunt work and hauling supplies. However, the city looked long abandoned to the point where most of the food would have spoiled. Safir glanced at Dresinil, and to the rest of his comrades, but Aesr seemed absolutely outraged by the turn of events as well. Once again, the heavy-lidded knuckle head that was their captain had to placate the disguised dragon, who took the form of a catching elf.

For all their strength, by god did they have an equal amount of pride. Their disguises were uncannily beautiful. Shrugging slightly, he gave a reassuring nod to Carmen- their healer. Though clad his his armor and shield, such desolate silence made him feel vulnerable. Carmen's presence made him a lot more confident than he would be without her. They were off again, marching toward nowhere. He wasn't sure what was to come or make of this event, but Aesr certainly seemed agitated about something and Safir figured it might have something to do with this area. Safir noted that he was beside the moth woman as well as Carmen, and decided to converse with her to pass the time. "Three days enough for you? I think I broke more figures those past few days than the entire Civil armies throughout the war." He said, flexing his digits confidently.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Zulii Ma'kaurubaen Sleekfeathers Character Portrait: Neira Valtegan
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The Paragon
The Imperian, A Castle


Neira moved silently alongside Xeron, both rendered invisible by his psionics. There was a magic-dampening field around this place, and the sounds of battle from downstairs indicated that some of their number were discovering this quite quickly. Psionics were only magic in the loosest sense, and besides that, the dark elf beside her was a bit better at it than your average fool.

Not that she would ever tell him so, of course. Indeed, even as they continued their search, they were volleying back and forth telepathically, with she as usual content to shred at his invincible ego in a futile, though valiant effort to humble him.

Since she wasnā€™t exactly sure what they were supposed to be looking for, and would much rather be fighting downstairs with the others, her remarks had a bit more bite than they usually did. He didnā€™t much seem to mind.



Talae cursed under her breath, a string of the vilest oaths she knew in her native tongue. When Sid and Koni had gone below, her instinct had been to follow them into that unknown (and probably highly dangerous) situation, but her orders were clear.

As it was, her indecision had enabled the escape of her prisoner (Salim, she was told, though she hadnā€™t really wanted to know), and now she had been forced to follow the bastard. His path had taken him through several winding corridors, and a few wrong turns had forced her to take the time to slay some undead along the way. She had far too much experience with exactly that, and though her breaths came with a bit less regularity than normal and her hand-and-a-half dripped with ichor and gore, she was unmaimed.

Her last turn had put her at a dead-end, though she noted that the window at the terminus of the hallway was open, which prompted another vicious string of expletives. Of all the damn stupid things to-

Gritting her teeth, she padded along the hallway, sheathing her blade across her back. Leaping onto the windowsill, she looked out and saw her suspicions confirmed. Salim, apparently trying to chew through his bindings, was precariously-balanced on a ledge of stonework about four inches wide, above several slavering ghouls. ā€œAstā€™va, you fool!ā€ she yelled, shaking her head. Without hesitation, Talae was out the window, but her race was much more accustomed to this sort of situation than humans were, and her natural grip was such that she was in no danger of fallingā€¦ herself.

ā€œStay there if you still want to be alive at the end of this,ā€ she grumbled, picking her way over to his location with deliberateness. She could probably move a bit faster, but she really didnā€™t want to spook him into doing something else fatally-stupid, like jumping, for instance.


The Children of Fire
The Imperian, On the March



Pylarea, whoā€™d been lost in thought, noted that she was being spoken to and turned to the tin-man whoā€™d issued the words. The proclamation of new strength evoked a nod in the moth-woman. It had been a trying few days, and she still was no soldier in the conventional sense- sheā€™d never had to be, until she left Ecclavaria- she was feeling more assured in her capabilities, at least a little.

The blonde woman, Carmen, was covering a smile with her hand, apparently genuinely pleased that they were all now able to move without breaking things. The moth was about to respond in words, but was cut off by a particularly enraged shriek from Aesr, which caused her to flinch a bit. ā€œWe might need that soon, I think,ā€ she replied, blinking slowly. Pylarea liked to consider herself pretty intelligent, but it didnā€™t take a genius to figure out that their leader wanted to smash something to bits. Which meant theyā€™d all probably be following her into confrontation quite shortly.

Indeed, the entire group was soon on the march again, and the hours they spent covering ground (or, in her case, the air slightly above the ground) passed in relatively-pleasant conversation. Though Aesr would occasionally shoot a glare at anyone who dared to speak too loudly, Captain Tao apparently wasnā€™t bothered in the least by any of his soldiers socializing.



Once sheā€™d concluded her jaunt into her native language, Shasarra smiled (somewhat nervously) at Zulii. The other woman actually reminded her of her older sister, who was also among the most traditional and fiercest of the harpies. Of course, Hatskar was dead now, slain in a battle against the Civil. It was the entire reason Shasarra had joined the draconian army in the first place.

Turning to Jivven, who she realized sheā€™d forgotten to answer earlier, she shrugged diffidently. ā€œOh, yes, battle won. No losses, either. How glorious for all of us.ā€ She scratched the shell of one slightly-pointed ear with a claw, a habit she had when she was considering something, then allowed one blond eyebrow to ascend her head. ā€œBut surely, the real glory is only there when your hands are bathed in the blood of your foes and the smell of it clings to your skin, no?ā€ Her smile stretched over keenly-pointed canines. She may not dive into battle and feast on the fallen, but she was still of true harpy stock, after all.



The general chatter ended several miles from their destination, when Tao gestured for silence. Given that it was backed up by Aesrā€™s now-patented death glare, most complied immediately. Those that didnā€™t were quickly elbowed into submission by their compatriots, not desirous of a petulant dragonā€™s wrath upon them.

The second town they entered at first seemed like a replica of the first, empty save for the whistling air and dust. Ahead of them, though, the captainā€™s eyes narrowed, and he signaled something to Aesr, who nodded curtly, at which point he peeled off from the group and ran ahead while the dragon signaled a halt. Carmen, who had worked with both before, knew exactly what this meant, and placed her finger to her lips as an added plea for as much quiet as possible. When she lowered her hands, she clasped them together and closed her eyes, not even opening them again when the soft luminescence of holy magic started to seep from her skin.

Ten very tense and utterly quiet moments followed, during which a few dared not even breathe, and then Tao appeared once more, locking eyes with Aesr. The dragonā€™s voice over the mental connection that they all shared soon followed. ā€œWeā€™ve run into the Civil.ā€ The last two words were almost spat, dripping with derision. ā€œTheyā€™re sacrificing citizens to make more undead for Darenthiā€™s army. It is our task to stop them. Remember: undead can only be killed by beheading, fire, and holy magic. There will also be a necromancer in the area, and be careful of it.ā€ Despite the note of warning in the words, she didnā€™t sound particularly concerned.

Carmen was a different story, though, and the cleric swallowed, at last releasing her hold on the spell that had begun to build. All of the members of the Aesr would then feel a boost in resilience, though the true potency of the spell would only be evident were they injured. There would still be pain, but a pain greatly reduced, so that they might fight more evenly with fell creatures that knew no agony at all.

As the procession started forward, she stopped Safir and Pylarea with a hand to each shoulder. Patting her hip with a hand, she stood as if holding a sword, then gestured to herself, indicating that she needed to examine their weapons for a moment. Pylarea handed hers over first, and Carmen smiled, praying over the thing for a few seconds, until it too, glowed with a radiant aura. If Safir would relinquish his, she did the same again, and both temporarily had divine magic with which to smite their undead foes. Such spells were difficult and draining, and probably not worth it in so small a quantity, but Carmen had been enjoying their company all morning, and wanted very much for them to survive.

Nodding, she gave them up to the battle, and then went about finding herself a strategic point from which to observe the battle and intervene as she was needed. If need-be, she could participate, but it was more strategically valuable to save her energy for healing the injured.



At the head of his company, Tao led the Aesr towards the center of the city. The dragon for whom they had been named had disappeared, but he had a vague sense of where she was, a privilege afforded to those of his rank.

Upon entering the town square, they were met with a grim sight: plainclothes villagers, tied into long chains of people, were being ritually executed by soldiers wearing the regalia of Nihil Darenthiā€™s Civil army. In most cases, it wasnā€™t long before the dozens of corpses rose again, taking up weapons as the undead. The necromancer himself was not immediately visible, but that meant nothing. He or she was present, and that was obvious.

At the moment, the element of surprise was on their side, but it wouldnā€™t be long until they were noticed. Tao gestured to those soldiers nearest himself and gestured for the others to divide in half and flank, cresting the rise that led to the square proper and laying into the first soldier he saw, the unnatural strength of the Children of fire ensuring that the elegant horizontal slice of his slightly-curved sword was enough to part the womanā€™s head from her shoulders smoothly as water.

After that, the alarm went up, and he surrendered himself to the battle.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Neira Valtegan Character Portrait: Pylarea
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The Paragon
The Imperian, A Castle

She gazed at the tortured half-corpse without much visible expression, but that fact that she had fallen silent mid-sentence conveyed just as much as Xeronā€™s breathily-exhaled oath, and Neira closed her jaws with a faint click, nodding curtly and about-facing to stand in the doorframe, a tall if not massive shadow in the ebony leathers and cloth of the Paragon.

The conversation happening between the two minds behind her registered as a faint murmur in the back of her own mind, but because she was not consciously making psionic contact, the images and residual glimpses of memory made next to no sense to her. The mantra, though, she understood that, and subconsciously, she ground her teeth together, wishing right along with the poor soul he would just hurry up and end that miserable existence already. She could not call it a life, not really, for it was more mercy to die than experience it.

Her companionā€™s comment was curt, and even as she followed him back down the twisting hallways and staircases, her eyes narrowed to slits. ā€œHow, exactly, do you propose we do that?ā€ There were scores of undead in this place, and she was not so stupid as to believe the Paragonā€™s force of a mere thirty had managed to chew through them yet.

Quite the opposite, likely: unless they were very lucky or very smart, it would soon be they who were spat out like so much rotten meat.



Talae, dead gods help her, actually growled at the man, a small frustrated noise at the back of her throat. Heā€™d nearly cost himself his life, which would mean costing her her commission, and possibly her own life as well. It figured that she was both stuck guarding the hopelessly-lucky idiot and also that he was important.

Her jaw clenched as she jumped down from her spot on the wall and landed soundlessly beside him. ā€œIf youā€™re done making stupid jokes, weā€™re going back inside.ā€ Her tone was flat, without much in the way of inflection, but it was a bluff and both of them likely knew it. She wasnā€™t precisely tall, but he was a good head higher than she was, which meant the fact that intimidating stares required eye contact rather counterproductive. In close quarters, he had her cold, as heā€™d demonstrated once already, but she was not one of the Paragonā€™s finest fencers for nothing, and the extra room here might make such a contest a bit more even.

Now, however, was neither the time nor the place to be having it, which meant she had to attempt something she hated almost as much as being beaten: negotiations.

ā€œLook, I donā€™t know why the general insists that you live, and Iā€™m going to be honest and say that I personally wouldnā€™t care if you dropped dead right now. But- youā€™ve seen what your employers like to do to the people they hire. Seems the logical thing to do might be to find new employment, and we just so happen to be hiring. Now, shall we move before more ghouls find us or do I have to knock you unconscious first?ā€



The Children of Fire
The Imperian, Town Center


Dark saw the blood it had drawn from the little-fast-thing, and something that might once have been a smile spread across its face. Unfortunately, this only made it look all the more twisted and terrifying, its teeth, slightly pointed in the canines like all its underground ancestors, caked in some reddish-brown muck that flaked slightly, dry due to the lack of saliva and other such living-creature functions.

As the little-fast-thing drew back, Dark grinned more widely, grey-fleshed lips drawing back so far they split and tore. Dark didnā€™t mind, for Dark felt no pain any longer. No pain, no fearā€¦ all of it was gone beneath the fuzzy haze of pleasant fight-lust-hunger. It cracked its knuckles, the bones shifting unnaturally, and Dark blurred, moving quickly enough that most would not track the movement easily. His patterns were erratic, but quick-fast-thing seemed to anticipate, and Dark knew that they were much the same, and both knew not to show their backs to each other.

A wet, gurgling hiss bubbled up from its throat, and Dark continued to circle, much more closely this time. The Swarm was keeping away air-flying-pain-bringers, and the Brethren occupied the painful-light-weapons and the shining-quiet-woman. Right now, the contest between Dark and the little-fast-thing was a draw, and Dark searched its surprisingly-cunning mind for a solution.

The answer had just presented itself when Dark staggered forward, confused. Looking down, it noticed that a hand-axe had embedded itself in one leg, severing the tendons and crippling even Dark. With a bestial howl, Dark rounded on this new threat, a grounded-flying-thing with numerous small-bleeding-wounds, and forgot the cardinal rule of combat.

Never show the enemy your back.



White lights exploded behind Shasarraā€™s vision as she impacted the roof, tumbling sideways and eventually falling from that, too, hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. Carmenā€™s spell numbed the pain, but she knew without looking that her wing was bent at an awkward angle, and it still hurt so badly that she lost her breath for a good five seconds, unable to gather the strength to force air into her lungs.

She was riddled with small abrasions, many of them oozing blood, but that was scarcely of concern to her. Her left wing was broken, probably shattered, and she was confined to the ground, where she was both slower and weaker, graceless as any creature who did not know the sky. It at once shamed her and inflamed her proud rage, and as soon as she could move again, she pushed aside all thoughts of agony and lifted herself from the ground, talons scrabbling for purchase on the cobblestones of the square.

The first undead who sought to take advantage of her condition received a crushed skull for his trouble, courtesy of her enhanced strength and roundshield. He crumpled to the ground, the spike on the shield having gone right through his eye.

What she saw next evoked an automatic reaction: Jivven was being circled by another undead soldier, and the muscles in that oneā€™s legs were tensed and coiled to spring. Without thought, Shasarra hurled her axe, spinning it end over end until it embedded itself firmly in the back of the creatureā€™s knee, staggering it for a moment. Unceasing, she picked up a nearby fallen pike and readied it as the thing turned, but she knew well enough that this particular foe was good as dead already, and smirked over its shoulder at the dark elf sheā€™d been trying to kill less than a week ago.



Their holy weapons making quick work of the undead before them, it wasnā€™t long before Safir and Pylarea would find that they were able to cut a swath into the center of the fray, at about the same time as Carmen reversed the putrefaction process placed upon Oraun. The stammering necromancer Quwall was saved from the retribution of the enraged elf by the timely intervention of her partner, Knossus. The unusually-massive deep human man lowered the spell when Oraunā€™s steel rebounded off of it, sending the elf sprawling.

ā€œGet a hold of yourself!ā€ he barked at Quwall, and she straightened up immediately, shamed by her superior officer. He glanced over at the red-robed woman, little more than a wisp compared to his own bulk, but then magic was the great equalizer in that sense. The human girl could well have more power in her little finger than most possessed in every fibre of sinew and musculature.

That in mind, he called up the last resort, choosing to play all of his cards at once. A fell light set his eyes aglow with crimson malevolence, and he chanted low, in a tone ominous as much for the corrupted words it spoke as for the intended mood.

At first, the earth simply shook, trembling from within, its echoing murmurs cascading outward. The tremors drew the attention of Vortigern and Tao, and both approached, the latter tilting his head sideways, though looking only at Carmen. The cleric, Knossus noticed, was still smiling serenely, and nodded gently, which the red-haired man with the robes trimmed in charcoal seemed to accept with equanimity.

Well, things would soon be different. Slowly, sundering the cobblestones and wrenching a great hole in the ground, a skeletal body rose from the ground, the empty sockets where its eyes should be emitting that same unholy red light. The beast, once a dragon of size equal to a greater hatchling, opened its fleshless maw, its roar silent and almost parodic. With bones harder than steel and an animation not of its own making, it would not fall easily.

ā€œPrivates Pylarea and Weylin,ā€ Tao began, and the tall, savage-looking elf nodded in reply, ā€œthe female necromancer. The other is mine. Carmen, Privates Garethson and Oraun, this beast.ā€ It was not his desire to leave three soldiers to take care of such a creature by themselves, but he was probably the only one with sufficient training to kill a necromancer on his own, and he had not missed the glow of Carmenā€™s magic emanating from the weapons belonging to Safir and the nightmarian moth. The cleric, he trusted unconditionally, and that was not something he could say for most people.

They would have to be enough for now.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Kisikoni Ayalen Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Mercy Yan'vega Character Portrait: Zulii Ma'kaurubaen Sleekfeathers
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The Paragon
The Imperian, A Collapsing Castle


The dampener that had been keeping magic from properly functioning hereā€¦ it was located in that? Neira had to give credit where it was due; the ingenuity of their foes was something to be considered worthy. A skull in a mausoleum like this was hiding in plain sight. It was perhaps simply too bad that it wasnā€™t hidden well enough.

Xeron was intently focused, and she did not need to be asked to spare her questions for the moment. Briefly, she even considered assisting, of lending her own mind to the effort in an indirect way, but refrained for two reasons: first, she knew he was capable of accomplishing this on his own, fatigued though it might make him, and second, the action itself would have implied a level of trust she gave to nobody. Communing with oneā€™s mind to the extent that mental energy could be shared was a relinquishing of a great deal of secrets and privacy, and it reminded her far too much of her birthplace.

So instead, she wordlessly moved to the dark elf when his task was done, observing his signs of exhaustion even as her own vitality returned. Still without speaking, she grasped one of his arms and slung it over her shoulder, stilling the pieces of rubble that had begun to fall from the ceiling. Suspended there, as if in some viscous liquid that deprived them of all motion, they made for what seemed a frozen moment in time.

Then, she pulled the both of them through space and out of the castle, and everything where they had been resumed.



Talae followed a half-step behind Salim as the two ducked and wove to reach the tethered horses. From the way the ground was shaking, it wouldnā€™t be too much longer yet before the entire structure came down around the others, and that worried her. She still had friends in there, people whose lives were of more importance to her than she would ever willingly admit.

It was easier, she thought as she watched her charge swing astride a beast of burden, if you didnā€™t care at all, but alas no matter how she tried, reaching that perfect equilibrium where nothing mattered was impossible for her. To this day, she blamed her sisterā€™s influence for that.

She hesitated, half-tempted to duck back into the castle and get the others out or die trying. A foolish notion that the pragmatist in her detested, and yetā€¦

The appearance of the nightmarian Captain Neira was a temporary distraction. The woman appeared uninjured and not in the least fatigued, though the same could not be said for Xeron beside her. Talae approached the two, indicating with a gesture that the psionic man could be led to a mount if he wasnā€™t up to that floating thing he tended to favor at the moment. Neira shrugged, stepping away from him and letting him do as he pleased.

An idea occurred to Talae right then. If she was still in the kind of shape to be teleporting places, thenā€¦

The nightmarian rolled her red eyes. ā€œFine, Shanir. I donā€™t have to read your mind to know what you want. Itā€™s all over your face. Where are they?ā€

ā€œUnderground. If you-ā€ she was cut off by a small huff, and a chitin-encased hand touched her temple.

ā€œShow me.ā€ Talae thought of the route that would be necessary, closing her eyes and visualizing the path that Kisikoni, Sid, and the others with them had taken to the underground part of the castle, before sheā€™d been forced to leave them behind and chase after the former mercenary.

When Neira stepped away, she was frowning, but nodded anyway. ā€œMake sure the idiot doesnā€™t do something stupid while Iā€™m gone.ā€ It wasnā€™t necessary to ask who ā€˜the idiotā€™ was, because as far as Talae knew, Neira only regularly associated with Xeron, the General, Mercy, and Thanaros, and only one of those people was in her immediate proximity at the moment.

Once the woman was gone, Talae at last deigned to answer the swordsmanā€™s question. ā€œI acknowledge your skill, but foolishness impresses no one.ā€ Hopping up onto another of the horses, she tried to quell the small feeling of guilt that she was not in that castle, fighting to get her comrades out of it.



Neira zipped through the collapsing passages of the castle structure, less concerned than most people would be at the impending demise of the structure. If something would have hit her, she simply threw it aside with a bit of telekinesis, or else moved around it using her presently psychically-enhanced limbs.

Coming at last to the spot Talae had seen their comrades get drawn underneath the structure (or was it outside? Perhaps there was more to this architecture than there seemed to be), she followed the path down, landing with a solid but muffled thud upon the floor.

The place was nothing less than a disaster. Bodies lay all over the place, though the greatest portion of them were nothing but dust now, thanks to Xeronā€™s work. Still, no longer was there anything down here. Muttering a few choice obscenities, most of them directed at Shanirā€™s poor sense of direction, needless concern, or both, Neira took off running down the passage, rounding a corner and coming upon a set of stairs, which eventually led her back to the main level. As she cleared them, a large chunk of stone fell from the buttresses high above, effectively closing off the passage.

Thankfully, she was close enough at this point to pick up some stray thoughts from Lily, captain of the Sunwings, and knew she was probably on the right track. Locking on to that location Neira willed herself to it, appearing just behind the elf-womanā€™s lieutenant, apparently running back the way they had come with Sid, the second-in-command of the entire damn army, unconscious and slung over her back.

ā€œNo good that way,ā€ the nightmarian informed the woman- Adel, was it?- curtly, then gestured ahead of her. The two took off again, running across what appeared to have been the site of quite the confrontation.

ā€œDamn, looks like I missed all the fun.ā€ Kisikoni was also unconscious, and very heavily wounded from the look of him, while several others were still standing and in various states of good and bad repair, including Lily herself and Yanā€™vega, who Neira would willingly admit she preferred alive to dead.

Swiftly assessing the situation, she tossed the deep human captain over one shoulder and addressed the rest. ā€œI can get him, archer girl, and Sid out of here. No more than that, though. The place is coming down, and your best bet is to take advantage of that. From here, Torga over there can break a hole in the wall, and Thanaros should be able to float you down. From there, wellā€¦ run like hell, kids, unless you fancy being squished.ā€

ā€œYou, youā€™re with me,ā€ she told Adel, and wasting no time hearing any protests the girl might have had, grabbed her by the upper arm and dragged the lot of them back to the retreating line with little more than a thought.

Of course, ā€œlittle more than a thoughtā€ didnā€™t mean it required a small amount of effort, and by the time she was able to pass Koni and Sid off to be treated by a medic, she was crankier than usual and in some serious need of sleep.



The Children of Fire
The Imperian, Town Center



Knossus stared down the strangely blank-looking little man from a distance of about ten feet. Empowered by the strength of his casting, he knew it wouldnā€™t be all that much of a challenge to snap the foolā€™s bones with his bare handsā€¦ and that sounded like exactly what he wanted to do at the moment.

ā€œSo, cave-brother, what say we settle this after the ways of our kin? No magic,ā€ he held up his hands as if to indicate that he would use none, ā€œno weapons,ā€ the crimson radiance of his pupils scanned the equally-red length of the liuyedao in Taoā€™s right hand, ā€œmerely the strength of our limbs and our minds, hm?ā€ Of course, given that the redhead appeared to be a bit simple meant that such a confrontation would hardly be fair, but then anyone who wandered onto a battlefield like this one had to accept that as a matter of course. In fact, every advantage was one for Knossus. He was larger, the residual effects of his enchantment made him just as strong as a Child of Fire, and he had years of experience in matter of war.

Tao merely blinked at him slowly, then flicked the blood off his sword as best he could and sheathed it, pressing his palms together in front of him and bowing at the waist. Knossus mirrored the gesture, then stepped back with his right foot, bouncing a little to keep himself in constant motion. His opponent took the opposite stance, alerting Knossus to the fact that he was left-side dominant, but seemed disinclined to move much at all.

Flowing forward, the larger man lashed out with his right foot, attempting to hook it over and around Taoā€™s corresponding calf and drag him downward. Rather than simply stepping back and out of the way as he would have expected, however, the shorter of the two stepped into the maneuver, stopping the now-abbreviated motion cold with both of his hands and twisting. The uncomfortable wrench caused by the more-than-human strength of the Children forced Knossus to twist and fall, lest his leg be broken while he simply stood there. Tearing his foot from his opponentā€™s grip, he rolled to the side and then back onto his feet, which the strange man in red armor seemed perfectly willing to let him do.

This time, when he lunged, sudden and powerful as a summer thunderstorm, he aimed high, thrusting for Taoā€™s neck. The latter blocked, crossing his arms slightly above his head to block the downward momentum, and stepped forward quickly, jabbing his foot for Knossusā€™s shin. Eyes widening, the larger man jumped backwards, sacrificing stability so as to remain uninjured. He was punished for it when Tao shifted his weight from one foot to the other, slamming the opposite knee into his abdomen.

The blow itself was not overly injurious because of the angle at which Knossus had been standing, but it effectively shattered his stability, and this time, he fell forward even as Tao stepped back, hitting the ground and feeling the unfortunate crunch of his nose breaking on the stone tiles.



That there woman? Vortigern shook his head to himself. It seemed like every time he was around the ladies, his grammar went out the window. Of course, he always had the brogue, but that was just his upbringing.

But never mind that. There were things to be killed, and he was just the man for the job. It seemed that the comely little purple lass had an idea, and he was perfectly content to follow, as long as the end result still involved bathing himself in the blood of his foes. Almost literally.

She was kicking up some kind of dark purple mist-dust, and while he didnā€™t really understand how she was accomplishing that, the fact was that it was still happening, and the sensations that entered his mind unbidden after that made about as much sense as anything. He grinned when her mental voice accompanied them, and thought back to her.

I may not be the mosā€™ cultured man on the continent, lass, but Iā€™m not stupid. I know a good plan when I see oneā€¦ or when the other guy donā€™.ā€

So saying, he sank into that peculiar state of mind that characterized his own berserker tendencies- not overly loud, but certainly what most people would class as overly aggressive. This whole mental communication thing worked surprisingly well- he was able to latch onto the small pings that were being sent his way and follow them with all the determination of a bloodhound. When his shortsword and tomahawk bit deep into Quwallā€™s flesh, then, her shriek didnā€™t faze him in the slightest.

The fact that she proceeded to summon hellfire and light the purple cloud with it was marginally more troubling.

The move was irrationally stupid, and luckily he saw it coming, else heā€™d have been a pile of smoldering ashes. As it was, he was able to duck and avoid the first gout, and even as the acrid stench of burning powder filled his nose, Weylin did not tarry in his task, dispensing with most of the flashy stuff and slitting her throat.

Erā€¦ Pylarea, lass, Iā€™m gonna need a way outta this, or chances are good Iā€™ll burn ta death, if ya take my meaninā€™.



A short distance away, though not close enough to be affected by the flames themselves, Easkr, the semi-sentient summoned skeleton of a dragon, had decided he didnā€™t like the shiny one. His steel hurt. It had been quite some time since Easkr had known pain; even in his lifetime he was among the mightiest in his clutch, but that had been eons ago now.

From the corner of his eye, he caught another making for his face. With a soundless snarl, Easkr swiped at it, the mighty heave of his claws sending Oraun back to the ground. His tail lashed behind him in frustration, and he tried to do the same to the tin man, concentrating his attacks there. One, two, threeā€¦ Safir was battered from side-to-side, though his armor was making it difficult for the dragon to tell if he was getting injured or not. At least it had stopped the annoying needlepricks of his weapon.

He was raising a fist to crush the foolish human when he was dully aware of something crashing into his left side. Turning slightly, he got an eyeful of half-crazed harpy. Had he a mouth, Easkr would have grimaced. As it was, he made to kick her away with a hind leg-

PainpainPAIN! All of a sudden, the world didnā€™t make quite as much sense anymore. The three heā€™d been dealing with- angry-dark-man and shiny-painful-man and annoying-bird-woman were encased in golden spheres If he looked closely enough, their wounds appeared to be disappearing. More concerning was the fact that his right wing-bones were missing, sawed right off by virtue of an equally-aureate blade, apparently insubstantial except by virtue of magic.

Well, that decided it. The red-robed woman had to die first. Dismissing all of the others, Easkr recklessly charged Carmen, whose eyes went wide as she dove to the side, out of the immediate path of the pale-boned beast. He wasnā€™t about to give up that easily, though, and she was forced to relinquish the healing shields she had around the others in order to successfully stave off the next attack, causing the taloned claws to rebound off the holy aegis sheā€™d put up. The sword also had to go, but at least she was easily the biggest distraction possible, hopefully giving Safir, Zulii, and the others enough time to get at its weak point, whatever that might be.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Pylarea
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#, as written by Ezarael
Pylarea

The way Weylin had responded to her thoughts almost made Pylarea feel bad for even speaking, well thinking, them out loud to him, she might as well have told him, ā€œFollow this you dummy!ā€ It was a little too late to apologize though, there was a good chance it would only distract him if she started to speak to him. That and she might just lose her concentration and botch this fancy little plan she cooked up out of the middle of nowhere.

Wowā€¦ Her plan actually worked. It happened much faster than Pylarea had expected as well, not much sooner did she began relaying the sonic pings to Weylin than she felt them dissipate. It seemed that was not the end of their encounter though, as soon as the Nightmarian released her concentration on the cloud and pings she saw a burst of hellfire leap forth from the defeated necromancer. Luckily her compatriot managed to dodge the first gout with seeming ease, but that was not the end of their trouble.

Erā€¦ Pylarea, lass, Iā€™m gonna need a way outta this, or chances are good Iā€™ll burn ta death, if ya take my meaninā€™.

Uhmā€¦yeah, this was not so good. How many options are there when it comes to saving a comrade from a wave of savage hellfire, really, how many? For a regular magic user there would probably be plenty of options, but she was just a Psionic, she used her mind to manipulate the environment around her. In all actuality Pylarea was not even a professional yet, she had just received a decent boost in her abilities after being initiated into the Children.

Get ready!

Without hesitating another moment the Moth dropped the hold she had on her wings to give her the lift forcing her to fall towards the ground, but it gave the Nightmarian just the extra bit of force she needed to accomplish her next feat. With a quick mental shove Weylin went flying both up and away from the spewing inferno towards the direction opposite Pylarea herself. There should have been just enough force to lift him over the cloud and safely outside of the flames area of destruction. He probably would not land very softly though, but hopefully she had given him enough warning to merit a safe landing.

She, on the other hand, was not in such a good position. It had taken more focus to speak quickly and send him up and over than was necessary for her to make a perfect landing. Although she did not fall flat on her face, which would have been just dreadful, her rear end did receive quite the shock as she plumped down flat on her behind. A grimace spread across Pylareaā€™s face as the pain shot all the way up her back to the nape of her neck, but thanks to her nifty Arc Shell nothing was broken of seriously damaged, well except maybe for her pride just a little bit.

Their battle was not over yet though. It seemed that Safir was still locked in combat with the reanimated corpse of a dragon, and Captain Tao seemed locked in a, somewhat perplexingly, lackadaisical duel with the other necromancer for The Civil. Who should she help? Captain Tao actually seemed to be holding his own quite well. Her mind was made up rather quickly though. Once the dragon decided to target Carmen her decision was made. There was no way she could let the creature kill her new friend.

The foci in Pylareaā€™s antennae began to glow brightly once again as the Nightmarian severed her connection with the others, if something was to happen she was not expecting she could not risk them suffering from any backlash. The Moth quickly linked with the dragonā€™s mind. She could feel the creatureā€™s pain, frustration, and even confusion at what was happening right now, but that was the least of her concerns. She focused with all of her might to send the beast a psionic shriek, probably the equivalent of having a bolt of lightning strike the ground right next to a regular being. Hopefully it would stall the beast for a moment, just a moment was all they would need.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Mercy Yan'vega Character Portrait: Neira Valtegan Character Portrait: Pylarea
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The Paragon
The Imperian


Bastard was hiding something from her, and she had no doubts about that. The only problem was, she wasnā€™t exactly invited to the party wherein heā€™d be likely to deliver that piece of information, whatever it was, and so she was presently trying to find something else to do.

It was easier if she convinced herself that she didnā€™t care, but that took considerably more effort these days than it used to. Nevertheless, Xeron and Wrath and that snotty dragon wench could keep their secrets if they wished to; Neira was going to give them some berth until she became convinced that she wasnā€™t going to be tempted to assault on sight. Impulse control had never been her strong suit, mostly because in her early years, that sort of thing had been done for her, and after that, maintaining functioning relationships with comrades hadnā€™t really been necessary.

Scanning the back of a particular cart, she ran her chitinous hands over several of the glass bottles in quick succession, producing a series of audible clinks. Tilting her head to one side, she spent a single moment later in contemplation and then grabbed two, tucking them away in a small sack of her personal items. The march began in a matter of minutes, and she intended to find a certain spider before then.

As it was, she managed to catch up to Mercy no more than a half-hour in. Holding one of the bottles out by the neck, she offered it to her fellow nightmarian with a sly grin. ā€œEcclavarain vintage, almost a good century ago. Itā€™d burn a humanā€™s hair off, but I thought you might like it.ā€ Neira shrugged nonchalantly, as if to indicate that it didnā€™t matter much if she didnā€™t.



Talaeā€™s eyes were unfocused, most uncharacteristically off somewhere in the middle distance. She was fairly certain that Salim had been attempting to make conversation, but she frankly didnā€™t care. This, she had been told, was the face she wore most often when her sister was on her mind, but presently Fae was about as far from the dark elfā€™s thoughts as she ever got these days.

The object of her worry was someone else entirely, but then it would be foolish not to concern oneself when oneā€™s closest comrade was possessed by something that frequently injured him. Subconsciously, she grit her teeth together. Sheā€™d have to tell him she didnā€™t like it. Of course, it wasnā€™t her choice to make, and she respected that a good deal more than most people would. But if he valued her opinion like she valued his, heā€™d want to know.

Attuned ears picked up on the Generalā€™s approach, and she was mildly surprised to find that he indeed seemed to be seeking her out. Though she had no more against him than she did the average person, he had never seemed keen on her line of work, which wasnā€™t exactly uncommon. Perhaps it was for this reason that it took her a moment to respond to his words.

ā€œThe irritating one is mildly correct; all tools have a use. All the same, I can see why you might not wish to utilize my particular sort. Do not concern yourself with it.ā€ A pause, and something that sounded suspiciously like her sisterā€™s voice reprimanded her in the back of her mind. ā€œBut thank you, even so.ā€

She sent a curious look in Salimā€™s direction, rather nonplussed by his interjection, but ignored him, sinking back into her thoughts and entirely unaware of the exchange between the general and the mercenary.



The Children of Fire
The Imperian



This was getting ridiculous. Knossus, before heā€™d apprenticed himself to a Civil necromancer, had been one of the best brawlers in his village, but this entire exchange was proving to be the most frustrating thing heā€™d ever endured. Not because of the condition of his body: while he was bleeding unceasingly from a broken nose and nursing several swelling bruises elsewhere, he had endured far worse before. No, the reason he was so increasingly enraged was because of the mental war that his opponent was waging on him and clearly winning. The smaller man before him had yet to lose an exchange, had no visible injuries and what was more refused to attack except exactly as far as was necessary to fend him off.

It was more than he could handle, used to winning as he was. It was time to break the rules, then. Quickly forming a plan, Knossus lunged forward, feinting a kick with one foot before abruptly shifting his weight and using the other. Tao, as expected, knocked it to the side with the judicious placement of a forearm, moving back and the shifting in to strike at Knossusā€™s chest with an elbow, which positioned his hand in such a way as to aim at the manā€™s already-injured face.

Rather than trying to avoid or block the fist, Knossus took a moment to summon the necrotic magics to his hands, ready to use their proximity to rot away the little foolā€™s body from the inside out. Just as he was reaching for Taoā€™s abdomen, though, he was brought up short by a fierce sensation of tearing flesh. Looking down, he saw the other manā€™s sword, somehow unsheathed in the time it took him to summon the spell, had found a new home in his belly.

Glancing back up, he saw the redheaded Child regarding him with something akin to infantile curiosity. ā€œYou, tooā€¦ always too slowā€¦ā€

Knossus didnā€™t have the vitality left to respond, instead collapsing to the ground in a crumpled heap.



At around the same time, Dark fell at Jivvenā€™s hand, half-living body no longer able to respond to his commands. He was saved from the questionable dignity of being raised as an undead by Shasarraā€™s axe, which cleaved his head wholly from his body. The injured harpy glanced up at Jivven, gesturing to the enemies still about them.

ā€œIā€™m not going to be much help with these wings, friend. But you might make a difference yet.ā€ They were probably the nicest words sheā€™d yet used on him, and she had to admit to herself that even if he was a groundwalking little slip-fish, he was rather good at it.



Easkr lumbered forward with surprising speed towards the cleric, ready to rip into her with his skeletal jaws, but was frustrated by the shield she had erected against him. He knew, though, that it could not stand forever, and while the dragon thundered away against it with single-minded determination, he felt something prick the back of his consciousness.

It sounded like a gastly wail, though a minor annoyance more than anything, and he might have dismissed it, had he in his distraction not missed the approach of two elven men, both armed with dual weapons apiece.

Oraun smashed bodily into the dragonā€™s ribcage, hacking away ferociously, though without much efficacy, at the massive curved bones that had once protected Easkrā€™s heart. Even as the dragon turned from the cleric, now pinned under one massive forepaw and struggling to breathe, he felt a weight bear down on his neck, forcing his jaw and face closer to the ground. Vortigernā€™s momentum was such that heā€™d recovered well enough from his toss at the grace of Pylarea, caught on to what the others were doing, and directed himself as well as he could to fall atop the dragon, landing in a crouch at about the middle of the series of vertebrae that made up its neck.

He was not so heavy that the pin would last forever, though, and fortunately, Safir made it just in time, the sword still imbued with holy light puncturing Easkrā€™s glowing eye-socket with what sounded suspiciously like a crack as it cleaved the bone beneath. The knightā€™s blow, not the fastest or the most graceful, did what speed and grace would not have been able: from the bottom of the eye socket and down through the cheekbones, Easkrā€™s skull was cracked and shattered, part of it crumbling away to the ground.

Without his necromancer to lend him the necessary force, it was enough to do the undead dragon in, and he went rigid, unable to move, even as the unlife left his stark-white body and dissipated under the force of the purification. The skeleton gave a great shudder, then crumbled into nothing more than the pile of bones it had once been under the ground.

Carmen, more than a little enfeebled from her exertions, struggled to free herself from underneath the still-heavy claws of the dragon, at last managing to wriggle free with a fair amount of creative contortion. Standing on shaking legs, she gave her rescuers a weak smile and set about examining the Children immediately closest to her. Most were all right and would not require immediate attention, but a few did need a bit of patching up. The magic of her earlier enchantments faded as she drew the light back into herself in order to heal where needed. Pain would slowly return to her comrades, and enchanted weapons would lose their extra properties, but if they took but a moment to look about them, they would know that such things were no longer necessary.

A few stragglers remained, but were quickly being finished off. The undead had fallen, and the Children of Fire were victorious, for the moment.

Tao stood, directing those of his troops that were still sufficiently able to draw the bodies, friends and foe alike, into a great pile for a funeral pyre. For those in the service of the dragons, burning was the only fit way to be sent off, and it had the added bonus of preventing the reanimation of corpses, something that they were all more wary of now that their greatest foe was capable of raising armies of the once-living for his own purposes.

Aesr reappeared at some point in this process and informed everyone that they would be setting camp in this village for the night, and that they were permitted to take any salvageable supplies they could find from the surviving buildings. She then ordered Tao to set up a watch and vanished again, presumably to sulk.

This wasnā€™t supposed to have happened.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Zulii Ma'kaurubaen Sleekfeathers Character Portrait: Neira Valtegan Character Portrait: Pylarea
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The Paragon
The Imperian, Crater


ā€œLife sucks if you donā€™t take a risk every once in a while,ā€ Neira pointed out, though what was originally intended to be a somewhat-lighthearted jab wound up sounding rather more grave then sheā€™d intended.

Well, that was more than enough of that. She chuckled when Wrath asked for a ā€˜story,ā€™ sinking down crosslegged on the rock beside him. It was a mirthless sound, and she shook her head slightly even as she let her arms rest loosely, draped over her knees in a vague approximation of mediation posture. ā€œWell, Iā€™m no loose-tongued minstrel, but I shall endeavor, o general.ā€ Her eyes narrowed suddenly, locking on a spot just to one side of him. She could have swornā€¦ but no, that must be the alcohol.

Sighing slightly- before she stopped herself anyway- Neira relaxed a bit, looking somewhere into the middle distance. ā€œUnderstanding nightmarians would be impossible if you didnā€™t understand how the Hive works. There are people who live outside of it, of course, savages who feed on the flesh of their fellows.ā€ She sounded almost a tad wistful about that, though her mouth dropped into a frown. ā€œI canā€™t imagine why- it tastes awful. At any rate, the rest live in Ecclavaria, the great hive-city.

From the moment youā€™re born to it, you understand- your life is meaningless. You exist only to serve the Queen in the way that your subspecies has always done so. That much is mostly common knowledge, I suppose. Perhaps being a laborer is as awful as it sounds, but itā€™s nowhere near as dangerous as being a queenspawn. The males donā€™t have to worry too much- most of them are handed off to other high-caste families. The females, thoughā€¦ well, one of them will be queen someday. The chances of being picked are greater when your sisters are fewer, so you can imagine what happens.

Itā€™s called the Game, and they play it like their lives depend on it, which I suppose they do. The thing is, direct murder isnā€™t allowed, so you have to get creative about it if you want to win. Itā€™s rather amusing, watching all of them plot and scheme to take each other down, but they never do realize that this as much as anything else is hardwired into their systems. The Queen is a psion of immense power, and itā€™s all her. I expect what the dragons do to their initiates is an attempt to replicate that control,ā€ the last part was mused thoughtfully, as though she hadnā€™t bothered to consider it before, and she leaned back on her hands.

ā€œShe instills in them the drive to eliminate the competition, but also the inability to assault each other directly. Sometimes, I wonder if itā€™s actually necessary or if she just does it all for her own amusement. Either way, I suppose itā€™s fun to watch. You know thereā€™s only ever been one actual murder in the Hive-city? Apparently, one of the spawn found some way around the compulsion.ā€ She shrugged. ā€œArenā€™t you glad you were born elsewhere?ā€ Inwardly, she was wondering if perhaps it would be wise to stay well away from the Ecclavarian vintage in the future, but wellā€¦ she was hardly one to curb most of her vices.



The Children of Fire
The Imperian, Camp



About what does a mute cleric dream? Looking at Carmen, all that would be readily discernible was that whatever the content of her somnolent thoughts, it was most unpleasant. At some point, she reached out unconsciously and found Pylareaā€™s arm, grasping the nightmarian moth gently by the wrist and elbow, as if to keep herself anchored to the realm of the waking somehow.



Shasarra was still seated by the campfire when Zulii made her hungover appearance, and she chuckled along with the rest at her fellow harpyā€™s rude gesture. Sheā€™d had more than a few adventures at the wrong end of a bottle of hotblood wine herself, though admittedly she could only remember about half of them.

As things settled back down, though, she resumed her story, a rather amusing yarn about a harpy prince who dressed as a woman to escape from his motherā€™s flock. When she got to the part about his sister recognizing him, and summoning the rest of the flock, there were several loud guffaws that brought her to a stop before she continued. ā€œNobody really knows what happened after that,ā€ she finished mysteriously. ā€œSome say he flew fast enough to evade them all and ran off to join the Paragon. Others think he flew too close to the sun in his efforts to escape and died of heatstroke. Still more are certain he was recaptured or eaten by Balenforethus himself.ā€ The woman shrugged as if to say it didnā€™t really matter, then turned over the mantle of storyteller to whomever wanted it.



Tao was running his usual halfhearted patrol around the fringes of the camp, checking that the perimeter guards were all still awake. One poor sod had woken to see the captain hovering over him, blade drawn, and nearly fallen over himself with prostrate apologies. Tao had smiled, then, in a way that was not at all comforting, and resheathed the liuyedao at his hip. The man was still whispering prayers to his ancestors for both thanks and future protection, but he certainly wouldnā€™t be sleeping again until he was well and truly off-duty.

Folding his hands inside his sleeves, Tao did not bother to disguise the slight scuffing sound his wooden footwear made on the ground. He was dutifully stopped by every sentry, which satisfied him, though he made a note to see if theyā€™d notice him were he silent. Theyā€™d know if a group approached, but a single assailant? That wasnā€™t as easy to tell. He knew that at the very least, the Paragon had a dedicated battalion of nothing but assassins, and very skilled ones at that. The Civil and Savage seemed less concerned with that sort of thing, but it didnā€™t mean they were incapable of it either.

Heā€™d been sent here to do a job, and both because of and in spite of his mission, he was going to prepare these troops as well as he could.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Kisikoni Ayalen Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Zulii Ma'kaurubaen Sleekfeathers
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The Paragon
A Holding Cell

Bound and gagged though she was, Neira was imprisoned voluntarily, and bore it with all the dignity of a queen, albeit a particularly angry one. Currently, she stood unmoving in the middle of her cell, posture more flawless than it ever was on an ordinary day, and the look conveyed through her narrowed eyes was nothing short of perfect disdain. It was making her cell guards incredibly uncomfortable, but she did not care. Did they not understand that her greatest weapon was still available to her? That if she wished, she could be free of these chains, free of all of them, with a mere thought?

As it was, she had closed off her mind, too, sealed it tightly against the intervention of anyone. Xeron could try all he wanted, but she wasnā€™t stupid. You didnā€™t work for so long beside such a powerful psion without accounting for the possibility that you might one day be on a different side from him again.

When Wrath had collapsed, she had known it wasnā€™t the alcohol. Despite her jabs to the contrary, there simply wasnā€™t enough there to kill anyone, much less someone with a half-dose of Nightmarian blood. Hell, she could have given the stuff to Sid and the worst that would have happened was a vomiting captain who then passed out for a few hours and woke up with the mother of all hangovers. No, something else was going on here.

Of course, she hadnā€™t helped her case when the dragons had landed. True to form, instead of trying to explain the circumstances, sheā€™d drawn herself up to her full height and stared Iridinias down. ā€œWhat, afraid your most important little pawn wonā€™t be so useful to you anymore?ā€ Come on, you scaly bitch, I dare you. Just try something. The thought had not been projected, though she had been sorely tempted. She did not take kindly to being treated like some yellow-blooded coward, the kind who would use poison and insidious treachery to take down an opponent. Her pride was far too great for that. Even when she herself had played the Game, her methods had always been direct, her intentions known. It was perhaps a miracle that she had survived where her opponents had not.

They had been much rougher than necessary when chaining her, but she had let them without dignifying the measure with a fight. It was a token restraint upon a creature who could teleport, anyway. Now, the bindings pulled uncomfortably at her limbs, and she was bleeding in a few places, but if there was one thing she understood, it was how to put mind over matter, and right now, the only things she felt were the indignant rage slithering over her skin- burning cold, not heated like her usual demeanor would have suggested- and the calmer, frostier-still knowledge that she would endure whatever farcical trial they put her through, because she had too much pride to run away anymore. She had run from Ecclavaria, she would not run from this. The blood, then, could seep ichor-blue from her wounds and pool at her feet on the floor with the eerie sound of regular drips, her muscles could protest her rigid vigil, but she would not stoop to acknowledge these things. She had endured much worse.

She was also quite certain that one day, she was going to kill that scarlet-scaled bitch. A contemplation over the methods for this was her meditative mantra, and the unholy fever-light it brought to her otherwise icy external demeanor was causing anyone who looked at her quite the measure of discomfort. She was using it to push back her actual concern over what had happened to the general and who had engineered it, because there was nothing she could do about that right now.

So for once, Neira would call upon the person she used to be, the dignified, regal Queenspawn buried under years of hatred and crass affectation and mercenary work, and though she wouldnā€™t like it, they would enjoy it much, much less.

The only murderer in the history of Ecclevaria would watch, and wait.



With Talae still away on a mission, Lieutenant Fakā€™ir Kethyrian was left in charge of the special operations unit of the Paragon. Theyā€™d been ordered to muster up and face battle with the rest this time, but he wasnā€™t about to have them form up in ordinary ranks. Their strength would be better spent doing what they always did, just in a different setting. Besides, just because the captain had trained herself to be versatile enough to fight with the heavy units if need-be didnā€™t mean they all had. Fakā€™irā€™s command of shadow and illusion magics made it possible for him, but most of the rest of them were trained for sabotage and assassination only, and that was what he fully intended on having them do.

Upon seeking out his captainā€™s tent to take it down for the march, heā€™d discovered an impressive cache of resources, most of which had been labeled for squad use. He wasnā€™t sure when Talae had found the time to brew all of these, as several took weeks to mature properly, but the discovery gave his squad a real chance to make a serious difference in this battle. Along with vial after vial of corrosive acid, designed to melt the heads off the undead, there were various muscle-degenerative poisons and stealth and diversion devices. It seemed she planned on the possibility of an undead-heavy battle, though everything here would work on the living just as well.

There was a small bandoleer of other substances set aside from the rest, with a separate note attached.

Fakā€™ir-
Most of these are for the squad. Make sure everyone knows whatā€™s what. Even an undead soldier canā€™t keep moving if his muscles lock up. Trust me, Iā€™ve tested it. The rest are for Captain Ayalen. The blue substance is the same neurotoxin I gave the rest of you, enough for both knives, if he sees fit to use it. The red ones are basic restoratives, which should provide an energy boost. Tell him it might help deal with the issue he was telling me about, but only for a little while. Devilā€™s own luck to all of you.

-Talae


Fakā€™ir had no idea what issue that was, but apparently keeping Captain Ayalen from keeling over in exhaustion would help. Frankly, the halfling Lieutenant wasnā€™t sure what kind of fool worked himself to exhaustion often enough to have developed an ā€œissue,ā€ but he supposed it wasnā€™t any of his business. Shrugging, he tucked the note into the bandoleer and grabbed the rest of the supplies.

By the time he reached the med tent, Captain Sid was already up and about, along with Captain Beelzes. Like the good soldier he was, Fakā€™ir saluted the both before inquiring. ā€œPardon me, maā€™am, but Iā€™m also looking for Captain Ayalen. Special delivery, apparently.ā€ He hefted the bandoleer and shrugged. As soon as he saw Kisikoni, he was passing this off with instructions to read the note, since he had his own squad to muster in the meantime.

The Children of Fire
The Imperian, On the March


The next morning saw all the Children roused at a relatively early hour, though it seemed that someone had taken enough mercy on them that at least the sun was already out before they were wakened.

Carmen, having slept heavily since the previous evening, was awake long before that, pleasantly surprised to discover that Pylarea, Safir, and Jivven were all in her immediate proximity, though she might not have known about the last if she hadnā€™t decided to throw open the window for some fresh air. Shasarra had roosted a rooftop over, and Carmen waved to the harpy, who returned the gesture with the languidness of half-sleep. Smiling to herself, and more than a little cheered that she seemed to have found herself some friends, she checked each for persistent injuries using magic alone. Finding none, she nodded to herself. That was good; she had worried she might have passed out before everyone was taken care of.

How sheā€™d wound up on the bed was something of a mystery, but not a very large one. She was touched that theyā€™d care so much, and watching the sleeping forms for a moment, she swore to herself that sheā€™d do everything she could to ensure they survived this. They and the Captain were the only friends she had now, and she wasnā€™t much worried about Tao. That man had an uncanny ability to take care of himself.

Turning, she exited the house they were in, walking to the well to see if there might be any water to draw. Pleasantly surprised to find that there was, she hummed in the back of her throat and carried a basin of it back to the house, which was quite the labor. Nevertheless, she was able to split it into several buckets and step into another room to use one to clean the worst of yesterdayā€™s grime off herself and wash her hair, which was a luxury they would not have often in the days to come. When that was done, she emptied her bucket into the garden outside and headed to the mess tent to gather everyone supplies for breakfast.

They were awakened with only time to dress and eat, but by bringing food to them, she hoped to give them the luxury of a bit of time. Indeed, by the time each was officially wakened, Carmen was gone, but extra food was beside the supplies theyā€™d found in the house yesterday, and the fresh water was still there, for whatever purpose they deemed it best.


No more and no less than an hour after wake-up call, the Children of Fire were on the march once again, following direction from Aesr, though from whence the dragon herself pulled it, none but she could say. Well, Tao had a feeling he knew, but it was more like an itch somewhere in the back of his consciousness, and frankly he was too bored with it already to puzzle through the implications. In his experience, what dragons did was usually based on the opinion that they knew better than anyone else, and truthfully, he could say the same for any military leader.

When the smoke of cooking fires became visible on the horizon three days later, Aesr signaled for a stop, and turned with a flourish to address the troops. ā€œOver that hill lies an encampment of Civil soldiers. The advantage of surprise is ours, and weā€™re going to take it. The captain will split you into two teams. One will lead the charge and attack from the west side.ā€ That way, the dying sun would be on their side and interfere with the enemyā€™s visibility. ā€œThe other will wait until all the forces have been turned to engage with the main force, then use the crest of the hill for a height advantage and initiate a flanking maneuver.ā€

With that she fell silent, leaving the mundane details to Tao, who suppressed the urge to drag a hand down his face. He understood that Aesr, more than others of her kind, believed herself invincible, but this was reckless. Granted, the strategy was sound enough, but the Children of Fire had been marching for most of the day, and she hadnā€™t sent ahead any reconnaissance units to see just what they were dealing with. She seemed unbothered by the fact that they were fighting blind, though, which only served to further perturb the Captain. Unlike some, he did not have absolute faith in those he worked for, but that didnā€™t mean he was going to defy his ordersā€¦ often.

He split the group, putting most of the heavy hitters in the first group to soak up the initial damage. Here went Safir, Oraun, Vortigern, Shasarra, himself, and anyone else with more in the way of armor and close-range weapons than their lighter counterparts. In the flanking squad, he put Carmen in charge, followed by Jivven, Pylarea, Zulii, and anyone who made primary use of a ranged weapon.

As quietly as they were able, the flanking squad took position, and he led the assault squad in a much less stealthy formation, though one rapid enough that being spotted wouldnā€™t matter. Raising one hand into the air, he dropped it with finality, signaling the charge.

The first wave of the assault squad hit the outer ring of tents with thundering force, and dozens were dead before the Civil had time to react. They recovered with admirable swiftness, however, and it was not more than a few minutes before alarms were sounding all over camp, forcing the soldiers from their tents and the mess hall and back into battle, some without time to replace armor, and some only able to grab the weapon or object nearest-to-hand. The Children needed to press their advantage as much as possible, though, for as Tao had feared, they were outnumbered nearly two-to-one.

Heā€™d do whatever he could to get them through this, but that didnā€™t mean he was happy about it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Neira Valtegan Character Portrait: Pylarea
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The Paragon
A Cave with a Clutch


Talae moved completely soundlessly, firmly at home in the darkness that was her element as surely as it was Fakā€™irā€™s, never mind that the swarthy halfling could actually magick it. She knew that, somewhere, he and Kisikoni and the General were waging a large-scale battle with the Civil, and though part of her worried over the outcome, she knew better than most that she was making a greater difference here than she would be elsewhere.

It had been a while since sheā€™d had wetwork to do by herself, but then leading a squad of like-skilled killers had only made her better at it, not worse, and she laced the area with poison, moving with efficiency and a worthy absence of noise. Several dragon corpses lay between now and her initial joining of the Blackguard, and sheā€™d made a careful study of their anatomy in that interim: treating battles like experiments, testing acids and toxins on flesh samples and merely observing her scalier allies. All of this had been honed for such uses as to which she now put it, such as killing dragons before they hatched.

She had discovered last time she tried this that the effects would not even be immediately visible; useful, when the mouth of this cave was periodically flown over, and the inside inspected. The dragons dared not risk keeping all of their eggs in one place, not even one so well-guarded as a keep, and she wagered that Astara thought herself cunning for minimizing the guard. For surely, who would think to look where so little attention was paid?

Perhaps it would have worked, if Talaeā€™s mind did not move in similar patterns. The infinitesimal hiss of corrosive acid burning a hole of a centimeterā€™s diameter in an egg almost as tall as she was greeted her sensitive hearing, and Talae lowered a string into the new gap. From there, she extracted a vial of poison and a dropper from her bandoleer, letting the fluid run down the string and into the embryonic liquids drop by lingering drop. Luckily, it did not take many, even to kill a developing dragon, and the entire clutch of twenty was likewise poisoned in about half an hour.

Just in time for her to make it out before the next patrol flew by, then.

Straining her ears for any incoming wingbeats, Talae proceeded as quickly as stealth would allow to the mouth of the cave, flattening herself against a wall when the noise was suddenly apparent to her. The sound of flapping grew heavier, and it was with a dull twist to her stomach that she realized the dragon was going to land. Chewing her tongue, she made a quick decision, ascending the wall of the cave with the peculiar grip afforded to her kind and wedging herself in between a stalactite and the wall.

Her breath went still in her chest as an enormous draconian head pushed into the cave, followed by a serpentine neck covered in white scales so pale they were almost translucent. The dragon looked over everything carefully, then drew in a deep breath. The hitch at the end almost convinced her that she had been detected by scent, and she loosened the dagger at her thigh. It wouldnā€™t do much, but she couldnā€™t draw her bastardsword in this position.

She was surprised when the creature exhaled, bathing the eggs in flames from its gaping maw. The heat was uncomfortable, and she felt the very edges of her clothing beginning to singe. Her skin, she was sure, had taken on a pink tinge to the grey, equivalent perhaps to a nasty sunburn, perhaps even a blistering one. She wouldnā€™t know until she could look, though, for she could barely feel such trivialities anymore.

The revelation that she was losing all ability to know pain was not as comforting as it might have been. She had fought enemies like that before, and all of them had been undead. The thought that she would soon have something so uncannily in common with a walking corpse made her feel ill, but unfortunately that fact that she was not in agony right now was forcing her to think of it.

The flames abated and the head and neck disappeared, but she waited until all noise had once again ceased before she dropped to the ground. She had not known that dragons incubated their eggs in such a way; a touch was enough to tell her that they were slightly too warm for ordinary comfort. She had little time to study, though; with the Paragonā€™s recent luck, she might yet return to them to see a siege still raging.

Hopefully, those she cared for would still be alive when she got there. She was no fool, and knew quite well there was one whose health concerned her more than the rest, butā€¦ now was hardly the time.

So it was that Talae Shanir slipped into the forest beyond the cave, leaving twenty unborn dragons dead in her wake.


In Chains, Not Far From the Battle


There was little to do but wait, really, though what precisely Neira Valtegan waited for was anyoneā€™s guess. It was not as though she could speak past her gag, and even though she could have perhaps thought things at people, she had thus far chosen not to.

Her vigil had not ceased, and even now she stood in the center of her makeshift prison, a closed-off cart. Unlike before, however, she did not glare at her guards but instead remained still with her eyes shut. For all the world, she could have been sleeping, but at present she was much more interested in keeping track of the goings-on not too distanced from her location.

There were many minds on the battlefield, but even more shells where minds had once been, now capable only of the barest thoughts. Undead, then, most of them the lower-class kind that served largely as padding, fodder for the blades, cannons, and sorcery of the Paragon. So much fodder, however, would take a while to chew through.

A few of the undead were higher-class, still retaining enough presence of mind for things like independent ideas and personality. When a nightmarian became such, they were universally referred to as mosquitos, regardless of what they had been before. The metaphor was perhaps appropriate, given their taste for blood. They moved though the field, stopping to engage only when absolutely necessary, and for this reason, they were obviously looking for something, or perhaps someone, specific.

As of yet, they had not found what they were seeking, but she decided to keep tabs, in case they did. Though for all she cared everyone in the army could believe otherwise, she was no traitor, and if she had to break her chains and defy her orders to prove that, then she would have absolutely no qualms about doing so. She had made no secret of the fact that she was nobodyā€™s lapdog, and stupid orders werenā€™t worth following.


The Children of Fire
The Northern Front



For a while, Taoā€™s plan had succeeded admirably, and the flanking maneuver had been timed so well that almost the entire rear guard was destroyed under the onslaught of the Children of Fire. As heā€™d feared, of course, things were rarely what they seemed, and it looked as though they had indeed sprung the jaws of a mighty trap.

In a way, this was annoying to him, for he had known better. In another way, that strange way he had about him sometimes, he was inordinately pleased. Worthy challenges were rare things, and each new battle was an opportunity to find one.

So, when Aesr decided to finally start being a commander, he demurred and set about the tasks she put to them, organizing the troops with surprising effectiveness for one so seemingly daft. Nevertheless, it was hard to prepare oneself for what he knew to be coming, and he was only glad that Carmen had seen fit to enchant his own blade this time around. Of course, she knew without a word from him that Aesrā€™s handling of the command left Tao free to do what he was really suited for: priority assassination of particularly dangerous hostiles.

As the two squads formed back up into one army, he observed Carmen bestowing her odd sort of favor (in the magical sense, anyway, though he found that it usually correlated to the personal one as well) upon weapons belonging to Pylarea, Safir, Jivven, and the harpy Shasarra. Given that she could only do so many, he found the choices to be wise, both in variety and in the fact that each possessed a measure of skill beyond the common soldier, though he was not oblivious to the fact that some of them had yet to fully realize their potential.

At this point, Aesr mounted the battlements and bestowed upon them at last their fire. The resulting conflagration was impressive, if indeed a bit amateur in the way first efforts invariably were. Luckily, the mastery of the flame generally came a bit easier than the first struggles with enhanced bodies. Theyā€™d acquit themselves well, he thought idly, something approaching pride coloring the inward musing.

The battle proper was on shortly thereafter, and Tao first moved to the side of the battlements where Tellion was working, shoving his sword almost absently into the neck area of some undead thing trying to rise from the ground. ā€œI wonder if they get boredā€¦ā€ he mused idly to himself. All of the rising from the ground and eating flesh wasnā€™t exactly a varied routine, after all.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Kisikoni Ayalen Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Mercy Yan'vega
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#, as written by Smith
The Civil

Northern Front

Moving as one, the band of pale women made their way across the battlefield. Each moved with disturbing unity with the next, the image of one being in separate bodies made real. Lesser undead parted before them like a gust of wind parting a field of wheat. Before long, the steel-eyed maidens stood face to face with the one black dragon that remained at the wall the cultist had hastily erected. The foremost of them, a gray-skinned human, waved for the others to spread out. All twenty-four of them surrounded the hatchling before it was even aware of their presence. The great wyrm loosed a throaty laugh and bowled over another group of skeletons as it advanced on a gray halfling.

The halfling, as well as the other maidens stood stark still as the beast moved within striking distance of the girl. The dragon, Vewenthras, snaked forward with blinding speed to snap the the undead maiden in half with his jaws. He caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye before the world flashed white.

The shards of Vewenthras's consciousness fell back together to reveal the halfling standing directly in front of his nose. Vewenthras found that his bulk was spread on the ground, and he could barely move. The world still spun and the organs that served as his ears bled profusely. It was all the dragon could do to keep himself from slipping under again. He watched feebly as the halfling opened her mouth. Although he could hear nothing, Vewenthras's snout crunched as some invisible force smashed in to his face. He could tell that the other maidens were doing the same as other parts of his body were beaten and bones were splintered.

In seconds, the hatchling Vewenthras was nothing more than a slumped mass of pulped scales and powdered bone. He was distantly aware that the lesser undead, the zombies and skeletons, were swarming his body and gorging themselves on his prone form, but Vewenthras could not muster the strength to shake the pests off. It was then that Vewenthras met his end as a moth covered by ants.

The last he saw of his assailants before his eyes were torn out was the group moving closer to the wall.

'Ware, 'ware, the eyes so pale,
Their crushing melody,
They'll fell ye with a single wail,
Deathly scream o' the-



The Children of Fire

Northern Front

"Banshee!" Oraun clutched his bleeding ear with one hand and slashed at the nearest undead with the other. He was still reeling from the cacophonous screams the colorless maidens had released when the undead horde came on with the next wave. Those Children closest to the site of Vewenthras's death were affected the most, falling to the ground with ruptured eardrums and retching at the deadly waves of sound. In mere seconds an entire section of the wall was overrun. He looked to Jivven who was just outside of range of the banshee's wails and nodded his head towards the pale women. "We need to stop them, they're letting in too many undead!"

Oraun gritted his teeth. He could still see many of his brethren still fighting despite the wails, and he refused to watch them die. The dark elf swept his blade forward, beating back several zombies in the process. He hooked the toe of his boot under his sword and flipped it up in to the air, snatching the weapon up before the undead could regroup. Two more Children leaped down from the wall to aid Oraun. It gave him the perfect excuse to launch off towards the banshees. Fifteen were already jumping down on the inside of the perimeter when Oraun skewered the halfling that had stunned Vewenthras. "Get the other four!" Oraun roared to Jivven, indicating the five banshees guiding their lesser kin over the unprotected section of wall.

Oraun kicked the lifeless banshee off of his sword and swept around to gut a zombie that was creeping up behind him. four more banshees turned their gazes, filled with cold hate, on the darkling that dared to attack one of their number. Oraun bare his teeth and raised his swords in challenge. The other Children that were on this side of the wall were tearing through the horde like sharks gliding through a school of mackerel, but he was the only one that was close enough to deal with the banshees.

The first opened its mouth to scream, but Oraun was already on her. The deep human banshee whipped around, but too late. Oraun sprang and thrust. The cruel steel burst out of the back of the banshee's neck. Oraun swiped at another banshee that tried to step around her sister, then wrenched his short sword from her mouth. A gush of blood erupted from her mouth, eliciting a satisfied grunt as Oraun kept up his momentum. The warrior flowed past the falling banshee and sliced at the one that had tried to get at him moments before. His blade bit in to opaque flesh once, twice, three times before the banshee sank to the ground. Two more, Oraun thought confidently, a wild hope burning in his breast.

The last two banshees used the time he spent dealing with their sisters to put some distance between themselves and the murderous darkling. Both opened their mouths and screamed as one. A Child that appeared to have feigned death cut the feet out from under one just as she wailed, slamming her jaw shut in the dirt and allowing her only a surprised grunt, foiling the sonic attack. Still, it was a slight reprieve against the wall of sound that slammed in to Oraun. The darkling turned his left side to the banshee and braced himself as the destructive meldoy washed over him.

Several of the darkling's teeth shattered, his left eardrum was completely destroyed, and Oraun screamed in agony as the eye on the left side of his face burst with a gory pop. Oraun formed another scream of his own, exhaling fire as well as pain. Both banshees recoiled and fell as their bodies were consumed by the dragonfire. The brother that had saved him before was rising to his feet, as were a few others that had fought their way clear of the zombies and skeletons.

Seven out of the ten Children that had been attacked by the banshees stood once more to fight. Oraun's chest swelled with pride at his daring rescue. He turned to Jivven, expecting his fellow darkling to have finished his own foes, and graced him with a brotherly smile. "Nice work."

The other Children rushed towards, or away from Oraun with wide eyes. Before Oraun could determine what was going on, all sound disappeared from his world as well as sight. Oraun slumped to the ground in a boneless heap, his bones powdered and his organs reduced to pulp. Oraun died instantly. The banshee that he'd first attacked, the spitted halfling, grinned at her kill as the other cultists stabbed her to true death.


Tellion jumped slightly as both captain Tao and a brawny Child saved hum from a threat he had not even noticed. The elf nodded sagely at Safir, as if he was expecting nothing less out of the warrior, and allowed Tao a stitched smile. His question was innocent enough. By nature, the undead were indefatigable and without any sense of joy or boredom. The greater undead, such as vampires and liches, were capable of the full spectrum of mortal emotion, but that was-

Tellion abruptly raised both hands and launched a pair of howling vortexes of wind at a banshee. The silenced cursed and hoped the big fellow was still nearby, as well as the captain. Nearby Children rallied around Tao as the banshees that managed to scale the wall advanced alongside a sizable host of zombies. Tellion snapped his fingers and an orb of shimmering heat formed in his delicate hand. He sincerely wished that their reinforcements would arrive already.


The Paragon

Southern Front


South? No...North. Northeast. Yes, yes, that's good. No, you can't rest yet, my little prophet. Xeron wiped the blood that began to run from Wrath's nostrils and continued to probe the general's mind. He clutched a dimly glowing shard of crystal and maps coalesced in the psion's mind. Good, Wrath. Excellent. How far? No. That' won't do. That's much too far, boy! We need to arrive before the Pale One or the Dragon. Xeron snarled and slapped Wrath's unconscious face, achieving nothing more than bruising his pale flesh. What do you mean they already know?

Xeron broke contact with Wrath. His chest heaved with the effort of maintaining the spell for so long, and his own nose bled freely. The darkling shook his head and stomped off in to the embattled camp. He had to prepare, and quickly.


He dodged right with incredible speed, but was still had to backpedal desperately to avoid having his throat torn out. Cristophe stared incredulously at the hellish mockery of mortality before him, forgetting the half-orc entirely. Amaryliss could handle that one anyway. Whatever this thing was, it was powerful. The scent of divinity and fel taint wafted from its blood in nauseating waves. Cristophe almost wretched, his vampiric senses overwhelmed by the stench.

Instead, the vampire bared his fangs and came on in a rush of claws and kicks. Cristophe's blade-like claws were in Kisikoni's face in an instant.


A stone cracked Lyle on the side of the head as he danced around the ponderous swing of a golem. The vampire stumbled, almost tripping as he caught on his own feet. Lyle scanned for the source of such a barbaric attack and met the gaze of a predatory beauty. Lyle immediately straightened, slicked back his hair and sketched a bow, heedless of the already healing wound on his temple. "Well good day, mien fraulein."

A huge fist tore off Lyle's head as he arose from his show of courtesy. From beyond the squad of golems, Turha nodded at Mercy and began ordering his constructs elsewhere.

"Lyle!" the piercing shriek was almost unintelligible amid the chaos, but it was obviously intended to mourn the death of the male vampire. A female, sporting a bob-style cut that was popular several decades ago, tore through a dozen Paragon soldiers to kneel by Lyle's headless corpse. She sobbed as Lyle's body shriveled and turned to dust as the ages caught up with him. As if forgetting it immediately, the woman turned her scornful gaze on Mercy. "Bitch!"

Getrude raised both arms in Mercy's direction, hands gnarled in to vicious claws. Thin blades of ice shot forth, expanding as the went. Four in all, the first demonstrated their power by shearing straight through a pair of soldiers that leapt to Mercy's defense. What appeared to be a writhing mass of sludge surged upwards off of the floor near another group of soldiers nearby, reforming as a trio of human-like goliaths. The golems of roiling flesh and bone engulfed entire men and women as they attacked, leaving behind neatly stripped skeletons in their wake.


"This is it." Gertz pushed his way past the tent flap and entered the general's quarters. Two more vampires followed him in, glancing around warily.

"Someone has been here recently." the first said.

"They aren't here now, Petrice." the second retorted, sneering.

"Enough." Gertz shoved Petrice and Kallen aside and approached the motionless figure in the bed. He was unimpressed. The man's blood-scent was interesting enough, but it was obvious that the general was suffering from some sort of serious malady. He would not be leading anyone any time soon. The fact that no one guarded him in such a vulnerable state attested to this. Gertz snorted derisively and motioned for Kallen. "Kill him and let us get to the real fun."


Hundreds of feet above the squirming, embattled masses, Iridanias and four of her kin soared. Iridanias twisted her sinuous ruby body and dodged a blast of fire that caught her brother, Qualion, full in the face. Qualion screeched and lurched, falling from the sky in a blinded, writhing heap. Iridanias scanned the murk for the source of the attack. Analistacles roared in pain and began a rapid descent, his right wing a torn and bloody stump. The remaining three reds were hovering back to back now, roaring in to the darkness. What was picking them off? They were the proud sons and daughters of Gurthenemon the Red, and nothing in the skies was their equal.

Wingbeats from above was the only warning they received. Iridanias and Jormundir pulsed their powerful wings and rolled away, but Otullia was not so lucky. The smallest red was torn almost in half as a pair of black dragons pulled her in opposite directions. Iridanias and Jormundir roared their fury and dove at their dark kin, fangs and claws bared, but they were not fast enough. Aesr and Lalaliki disappeared in to the darkness once more. Iridanias could here the black's mocking laughter.

"Why hello there, red." it called out from the mists, "Fancy meeting you here."

Iridanias's mind raced. The cultists were here too? What could that possibly mean? Were they aware of Nhil's purpose as well? How many had they brought to bare? Her thoughts ended abruptly as Aesr streaked out of the mist and raked bloody furrows down Iridanias's back. She would have lost a wing had she not evaded in time. This was not good. A black was no match for a red in a straight up fight, but the dark kin were not one's to fight fairly. If this kept on, she would die an honorless death. So she waited. "Come then, burnt bitch."

A loud buzzing rose in her ears as the battle lust intensified.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Neira Valtegan
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The Children of Fire
The Northern Front


Though the Children were fighting admirably, there was no mistaking that the enemies were closing in. His troops falling in around him, Tao nodded to himself. They were doing well. It was time he did his part as he should, rather than wasting time.

ā€œHold this line.ā€ He pronounced, trusting (correctly), that the order would make it down the ranks. The folk here were mostly bulwarks (like armor-man) or those with long-distance attacks, the perfect combination for doing just that. He, however, had an entirely different skill set, and it was time to ease their burdens somewhat. His eyes found Carmenā€™s impossibly blue ones, and he tilted his head just slightly in the direction of the pitched fighting in front of them.

The slight woman smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and she ascended the wall of supplies and earth with grace. Standing there, she placed her hands palms-together in front of her chest, almost as if she were praying, and when she separated them, a trail of burning golden light formed in the space between. As though she were conducting an orchestra, the human girl flicked her wrists in a delicate motion, and the light flared until it was more flame than anything else, racing down the makeshift battlements with inexorable speed. To the living, it was nothing more than a warm tingle, like the embrace of some long-lost lover.

To the banshees and other undead trying to climb the walls, it was perdition itself, and the single moment left to them stretched out like an eternity of punishment for their merest existence. Before so much as one could draw breath for a shout, however, they fell apart, splitting at a level so basic that when the light disappeared, there was nothing left of hem but the faintest ash. She had cleared a swath of dozens of yards in a half-circle from where she was standing, though there were many foes left yet.

Tao took advantage of the empty space left by the sudden departure, and leaped over the wall, a blur in motion as he sped towards the advancing enemy line. He drew considerable fire, but nothing hit him. He ran past Jivven and the dead Oraun, past Vortigern the berserker bellowing and tearing into lines of opponents beside Pylarea and Gatan, past Shasarra the harpy locked in single combat with a particularly-nasty wight, and everywhere he went, undead creatures fell, missing their heads or with holes burned through their chests where their hearts used to be. Here and there, he picked off something attempting to flank one of his soldiers, and for once, he was the furthest thing from dense.

Move left, duck under, right diagonal slash, half-step, pommel strike, finish step, reverse direction, decapitate. Sharp, pointed thoughts in unholy litany, more accounting than direction, as his body simply moved itself in the ways it had been forced to practice too many times to count. Unnatural speed and an enchanted blade carried him through scores of zombies and draugr, but he had yet to find what he sought. He wanted the commander, and the rising battle-lust in his blood demanded it, singing in the minor key of vengeance with the keening voice of urgency. It moved him in a way that nothing else ever could, in a way older than even he could truly fathom. It was the basest instinct to kill, and he was not truly himself until he was heeding it.

Carmen, meanwhile, braced herself against the Childrenā€™s side of the wall, already seeking out injured parties. Oraunā€™s life-force leaving the battle had not gone unnoticed; none of the dozens of deaths she had been unable to prevent had. They were the echoes of empty spaces, voids where music should have been, and though she could not weep for them now, in her soul, the sadness was already settled like a leaden weight. Each one was a failure of hers, and she was doomed to continue failing, for hers was an endeavor at which none could ever fully succeed.

They had to hold position. She knew that the reinforcements would be here soon, but she could not say what soon meant, exactly. Hopefully within a few minutes, but in a battle like this, even the barest seconds could seem an eternity.

Preoccupied with searching for the wounded, she did not notice the two draugr wights, beings bigger, stronger, and faster than their zombie counterparts, sneaking towards her from behind. Draugr were smart enough to have some initiative, and they had not missed the results of the golden ladyā€™s light-flames.


The Paragon
The Imperian, Near the Southern Front

The nightmarianā€™s posture tensed; her eyes snapped open and narrowed dangerously. With a psionically-boosted heave, she broke the chains binding her limbs and tore the gag from her mouth, spitting blood onto the ground.

Without a word, Neira pulled herself through space, a chitin-encased hand closing around Kallenā€™s throat before she could move towards the general. ā€œHn.ā€ With the slow-spreading smile creeping across her visage, Neira tossed the vampire effortlessly into her compatriots and teleported again, so as to stand between them and the prone Wrath. He looked much worse for wear; it looked like sheā€™d be having an unpleasant conversation with someone soon, and she was willing to bet that someone was Xeron.

ā€œNow thatā€™s not very nice, is it?ā€ She trilled, more than a little happy to be freely-moving again. ā€œWhy donā€™t you try killing something with a little moreā€¦ kick?ā€ In the completion of a pun that Beelzes would be proud of, Neira executed a flawless roundhouse that snapped Petriceā€™s neck, though she knew it wouldnā€™t kill a vampire. She still remembered her first mosquito encounterā€¦ such an interesting thing heā€™d been, but of course in the end even the undead could be put down for good, if you did it right.

And though sheā€™d never admit as much, sheā€™d make sure these three never walked again. Truly, trying to kill this silly manā€¦ youā€™ll regret it, you poor, poor idiots.

She lunged for Gertz first, chuckling darkly when his supernatural speed carried him just out of her range. Her response was to mind-lash he other two with tendrils of pure pain. Unfortunately, having free-thinking minds was for once going to be to their disadvantage. It was, after all, rather difficult to play with the minds of the mindless. The females both flinched, but she didnā€™t maintain the effect for long, choosing instead to step in at Kallenā€™s side and grab her arm, wrenching the limb from its socket and whipping the living corpse around like a rag-doll, plunging her sharpened hand into her chest-cavity, missing the protective ribcage by precisely-calculated centimeters and hitting the still heart with enough force to cleave it in twain. It wasnā€™t a stake, but it would do.

ā€œWhoā€™s next?ā€ Neira purred, heady with the rush of activity after confinement. ā€œMaybe if you both come at once, youā€™ll hurt me.ā€ Her tone suggested that she didnā€™t find it likely, but then she never had been one to suffer from a lack of confidence.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Neira Valtegan Character Portrait: Pylarea
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The Paragon
The Imperian, Generalā€™s Tent

Neira hissed when the male vampire dissolved, and were it not for extenuating circumstances, she would have pursued him, torn down his pathetic excuse for a mental barrier, and fed him his own rotting intestines, just for fun.

As it was, Wrathā€™s mind was stirring, and she still had two vampires to deal with. Well, one and a half, anyway. Still, she attached a nice little mental tag to the retreating one, not invasive but useful, and blinked languidly when the one still hale and whole attempted to wrap her sticklike fingers around the generalā€™s pale neck. She received a blade to the heart for her trouble, and Neira stepped in smoothly towards the other, who scrabbled backwards with all the futility of the three-legged doe.

ā€œNow, now, dear, try not to struggle. Itā€™ll only hurt worse,ā€ she singsonged, then nearly grimaced when she realized how similar that sounded to a certain arachnoid friend of hers. Bloody Mercy. Next thing you know, Iā€™ll be hitting on anything that moves.

The remaining vampire gasped her last even as Neira drove her hand the rest of the way through her chest, snapping the limb with several wet cracks for good measure. The flaxen-haired thing lay unmoving thereafter, well and truly dead- for good this time.

Wiping her bloodied hands on her robe, Neira turned to Wrath, sweeping her eyes down over him exactly once before she sighed. She was at his side almost immediately, fingertips at his temples, siphoning off his pain. This was a trick sheā€™d learned long ago but never seen much use for. Of late, it had become regular to split agony with Xeron such, though he most often refused now, as there was some inevitable psionic bleed. She could only assume she was no longer allowed to share in his plans, but she wasnā€™t about to ask this oneā€™s permission when he clearly required the assistance.

His comment, such as it was, met its answer with the entrance of a healer, screaming her fool head off and making rather a spectacle of herself. Once the ungodly racket had died down and the necessary deductions had been made, Neira responded by raising a single eyebrow. ā€œThe pale one? I could find him, and transport us there, but youā€™re not dying on my watch without a better plan than that, Captain.ā€ She didnā€™t mention what was obvious to the both of them: that he was hardly in the best shape, and the two of them, while formidable on their worst day, did not an army make.



The Children of Fire
The Imperian, Northern Front


Carmen had the palms of her hands resting softly on the temples of an injured orc when she heard a crash too close behind her for comfort. Pressing her bound lips together in a thin line, the cleric finished off the process and rose, turning fluidly in time to see Safir and Dresinil engaging two Wights and three or so lesser undead.

Biting her tongue, the young woman was forced to watch as, immediately after felling one of the creatures, Dresinilā€™s head was bashed in by a blind-side hammer blow from another, and he crumpled to the ground, dead. When Safir fell, too, the healer knew a sensation she had not felt in what seemed a lifetime: a cold tendril wound its way around her stomach and her heart, warming until it burned, creeping up her throat to settle in her mouth with the metallic tang of blood where sheā€™d bitten the soft flesh inside her mouth.

Slowly, her left hand ascended to her lips, the threads there burned away with the touch of holy magic. With it, her bindings, her reservations, wore away, and her chains were loosed. Her skin took on a warm glow, and the area immediately around her was flooded with magic, healing the injured over a wide area. The elf who had obeyed Jivvenā€™s order for conveyance found that his injured knee, an old wound form a battle long ago, had returned to complete function, and Jivven himself was good as new, perhaps better.

Vortigern, still fighting beside Pylarea and the one called Gatan, grinned broadly at the rush of adrenaline, cleaving into the hand grasping for the Nightmarian with giddy abandon, lost to the red berserker haze. The same orc Carmen had just healed nudged Jivven in the shoulder. ā€œIā€™m a pretty big distraction, buddy. You look like a guy who could take advantage of that.ā€ Gorthax, for so he was called, turned and headed back for the field of battle, intent on causing as much carnage as possible.

Fortunately, the burst of life-energy from Carmen was timed with the arrival of the reinforcements, and at about the same time as a peeved Aesr, chased by a screeching Iridinias, dove downward to order her unit captain to take what men he could recover and lead the vanguard, that number of salvageable soldiers nearly doubled.

For her own part, Carmen crouched, touching a gentle hand to Safirā€™s forehead. ā€œRise, my friend,ā€ she implored him, her voice husky from disuse but fairly thrumming with music, ā€œfor now is not your time. I will not see you lost to the likes of these.ā€

Just ahead, Tao bellowed, a sharp rallying cry heard even over the din of arriving reinforcements. Aesr did not want to be outdone by her brothers, and it was their job to ensure she would not be. Though he was certain by now that few fought for her whim, he knew that in the end, each individual purpose would be served in the same way.

The troops answered him, gathering about their oddball captain like the trained soldiers most of them were not. Several now lay dead, and when all was said and done, several more bodies would join the dust, but the reinforcement and recharge had done most of them a service to morale as well. He watched those that could still answer his call gather about him: Carmen, Shasarra, Gorthax, Tellion and Vortigern among them, and the Captain gave them all a savage grin.

ā€œBack to hell with them all!ā€ The shout was Vortigernā€™s, but several more picked it up, and in a v-formation with Tao at the point, they charged forward to meet the Civil lines, now augmented with both the living and fresh undead. The formations crashed against one another, several falling in the immediate contact. Tellion was hit with a javelin and went down, another dark elf and halfling behind him, but by far the majority of the loss impacted the undead. It was not long before the freshened Children reached the ranks of the living among their foes, and here the battle began in earnest. These were no mindless zombies, but thinking, feeling, strategizing soldiers.

Carmen had summoned a light-formed glaive, which she swung with all the ferocity of a shieldmaiden of yore, occasionally punctuating her assaults with pure notes of spellsong, their effects differentiated by pitch and tone. Tao moved like water, flowing around opponents, leaving many dead or re-dead before they registered the damage. Gorthax was a rough, shouting mess with a mace, the perfect distraction for those who worked without so much noise.

ā€œNow this is more like it, inā€™it, ā€˜Rea?ā€ Vortigern asked the moth beside him, cleaving a zombieā€™s skull with one of his axes. Shasarra, wielding a sword and shield in tandem, was already streaked with the blood of her foes, macabre lines painting the canvas of her face in a history of vicious victories. She stepped in to take what was once Dresinilā€™s place in the line, though she held it more with swooping, diving, and dodging motions than sheer strength and endurance.

The Children of Fire were making a push, and there was no mistaking that the Civil were now on the defensive.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Kisikoni Ayalen Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Neira Valtegan
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The Paragon
Southern Front

Neiraā€™s nose wrinkled with distaste as Wrath downed several vials of a vaguely plurplish draught. Sheā€™d nearly laid into the last fool whoā€™d tried to convince her to drink anything medicinal. Perhaps it was fortunate that her injuries were usually the kind that could be treated without them. Natural armor did wonders, she reflected, tapping her fingers lightly together.

At the mention of Xeron, her eyes narrowed. ā€œSo thatā€™s what he was after. It figures.ā€ She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Keeping her own mind closed off for the duration of her imprisonment had left her blind to any psionic manipulations heā€™d been using on the general, and so it was impossible for her to know the extent of the damage without checking herself, something they currently lacked the time for. Sheā€™d never show it, but this concerned her. A muscle in her jaw tightened, but she forced it to relax and followed the halfblood out of the tent. If she noted his use of her given name, she chose not to comment upon it.


Sheā€™d opened her mind to the rushing tide of thoughts among her comrades, feeding Wrath the assessment she was able to produce from the tangled jumble of panic, resolve, and hasty observation. It was hard to keep an organized stream of consciousness in the rush of battle, and losing made that worse. So she sorted through flashes of images and distorted fragments of language, piecing together a picture of the state of things, and this was what she reported, keeping her own words as succinct as possible.

She maintained an unusually-grim expression, nodding her acknowledgement to his order and pushing past the panicked or feral thought patterns of the soldiers to plant the order firmly where they would recognize it in their minds. Northern end of camp, as soon as possible. Generalā€™s orders. The last was not a strictly-necessary portion of the message, but she gave it careful emphasis. That draconian bitch was not in charge here, and the men needed to know it, else any victory they earned would be in the name of Gurthenemon the Red, and not the Paragon. She may have detested politics, but she well knew what an advantage that would be. Even their defeats must be in their own name, lest they all lose sight of why they continued.


The demons and golems charged, the Paragon soldiers right behind them. Neira moved in at the front of the line, still shadowing Wrath. It was not where sheā€™d most like to be, as the frown etched into her face presently showed, but it was what was necessary, and she had never hesitated to do just that.

She moved to the side when the earth erupted into massive whips of dirt and stone, temporarily losing track of her charge. Unbothered, she ducked under an incoming swing and used her momentum on the way back up to slam the heel of her hand painfully into the chin of her assailant, snapping his neck. The earth crumbled back to unmoving dust shortly thereafter, and she noted Sidā€™s reappearance with a sardonic smile. That Halfling had a damn uncanny sense of timing.

She knew the face of the dead woman, for it was one she had seen many times in the minds of prisoners or opponents. Miralight Duff, arcanist, wizard, and rumored second-in-command to Nhil himself. If she had to take a guess, sheā€™d say theyā€™d just invited the necromancerā€™s fury.

Excellent.


Talae Shanir came upon the battlefield at last when the Paragon were making their reinvigorated charge. Setting her jaw, the dark elf spurred her horse, who charged obediently. She could make out her squad on the periphery of the battle, laying traps and sabotaging the Civil behind their lines and without their knowledge. On another day, she might have joined them, but a sweeping glance across the field was enough to inform her that right now, melee combatants were needed more.

With balance only a darkling could possess, she kicked her feet out of her stirrups and drew them underneath her, crouching on the back of the galloping stallion and drawing Abel from the sheath on her back. It was freed with a soft, metallic ringing, the sound of things beginning and things about to end.

When the horse reached the front line, she yanked his reins to the side, ensuring he did not die needlessly by crashing into an oncoming pike or something of the sort. She, however, sprang from his back, somersaulting in midair and landing behind the first line of Civil soldiers.

Her blade cut into the unprotected neck-joint of the first manā€™s armor before any of them had a chance to react. By the time the rest had regained their bearings, Talae had a flash-bomb in hand, and, striking the flint on her index and middle fingers together, produced enough of a spark to light it. A deft toss placed it in the middle of a group of oncoming fighters, and several staggered backwards, blinded by the detonated result.

By now, the rest of the Paragon were through the initial defenses also, and she fell in with the rest, following the scent of abject fear to find the man she sought. It would not, after all, be a true battle for her unless she was fighting it beside him, regardless of the form he chose for the purpose.


The Children of Fire
Northern Front


Perhaps most people would have been bothered by the warped nature of Pylareaā€™s demeanor as compared to what she had previously been. Vortigern Weylin, a man with more scars than years of his life, understood exactly what was happening, and did not bother wasting the time to be concerned about it. Battle changed people. It had made him different, too, forged an unhealthy, twig-limbed elven boy from the forest into an axe-slinging, towering combatant with a dangerous battle-lust and a savage grin.

So instead of asking her if she was all right, instead of letting his mouth twist downward with concern or his brows furrow, he laughed, a deep baritone rumble that should have sounded out-of-place but really didnā€™t. ā€œAtta girl! Youā€™ll be a story to scare Civil children yet.ā€

But the time for talking was past, and he sank back into his battle-haze, hacking and slashing in a graceless, efficient art that might yet make him such a tale himself.


Carmen was free. How long had it been since she was so? Longer, perhaps, than she wanted to remember. What should have been elation was conveyed upon her features as grave sorrow, frozen into place by the uncanny fierceness that shone only from her eyes. She knew she shouldnā€™t have done it, that she needed to conserve energy, for she could feel the spellpower massing in the Civil camp, and knew that if she was to stand any chance of cancelling it when it triggered, she would need nearly everything she had, if not more.

Butā€¦ she could not sit by and watch her comrades, her friends, fall. For so long, Tao had been the only friend she knew, the only one willing to sit beside the woman who could not speak, who was a freak of nature even amidst the other crimson-robed Silenced, and communicate in hesitant gestures, building a language that belonged to them and nobody else. Since her reassignment, sheā€™d been able to make other friends, those who seemed to look upon her and see nothing to hate. Jivven, Shasarra, Pylarea, and Safirā€¦ only four, but so many more than sheā€™d ever known before.

They would not die. She would not allow it.

Her desperation to reach the Civil encampment infused her motions, truncating the graceful swings of her glaive and forcing her to backpedal several times when an attempted blow she normally would have been aware of took her by surprise. She quite nearly stepped forward to take on the dark-haired human who held so many of her comrades at bay, that familiar hot sensation driving her toward such action, but when Shasarra tumbled backward, she was rent by conflict. She needed to heal her friend, she needed to avenge the others, and she still needed to save her energy.

Tao, as he always seemed to, solved her dilemma by stepping forward himself. His single glance in her direction reminded her of something he said once. Protecting peopleā€¦that is noble, perhaps. But what if people can protect themselves? It had seemed an honest inquiry, asked with an almost childlike innocence, but sheā€™d realized that heā€™d pointed out something she failed to consider. She couldnā€™t do everything she wanted to, but she didnā€™t have to either.

She flitted backwards, down the hill after Shasarra, intent on treating the worst of her friendā€™s injuries. Fortunately, it seemed that the exchange, though brutal, had not lasted long enough to deal the harpy any singularly life-threatening wounds, though the sum total of everything she had endured, the shallow cuts that littered her body, was dangerous enough on its own.


The Civil
Northern Front


Skali watched as the next taker stepped up, a man who looked to be barely out of his boyhood. She was expecting a group; that would have made much more sense, and eventually, they would have been able to overwhelm her with sheer numbers. Many would have died in the process, but so would she, eventually. But no, this youngling was all on his own, exchanging glances with the red-robed cleric and holding up a hand diffidently to deter any of his men from following him to this.

Curiousā€¦ if Skali had her guess, sheā€™d say that even despite his youth, he had most of the men and women on the field beat for years of combat experience. It was in the way he moved, gliding around fallen bodies and terrain hazards without appearing to even notice them. She was much the same, and a small, secretive smile played across her features. If she could take this one down, her subsequent death at the hands of the masses would all be worth it.

ā€œI am Hurin Skali,ā€ she announced again, as had been customary when she was taught to fight. A worthy opponent deserved to know the name of the one who would be his end.

He cocked his head sideways, the purpose with which he had locked eyes with the mage replaced by what appeared to be a vague, dreamlike quality, as though he were both present and not at the same time. Though his hair was a red-brown, she took him to be a deep human; he was shorter than she, and more lightly-built. It made no difference when facing down the Children of Fire, of course, but it spoke to how heā€™d been trained, what kinds of tactics he was likely to use. A single-edged sword, presently covered in crimson rivulets of blood which dripped languidly to the earth below, rested in his left hand, his right entirely empty.

One eye was scarred, and the other sported a tattoo she vaguely knew to be familiar. ā€œFeng Tao,ā€ he returned at last, and Skali blinked. It was not a well-known name among common soldiers, perhaps, but she knew it. Not an assassin in the conventional sense, but something of aā€¦ problem-solver, sent to intercept and dispatch targets of particular importance in the heat of battle. Perhaps I should feel honored. I will certainly deserve it if I get rid of him.

Knowing better than to underestimate him, she already had the advantage over most of Taoā€™s opponents, and when she first charged, swinging her left sword in a wide arc, he ducked with speed she had not been expecting. Still, she was able to compensate a bit, and a few reddish hairs floated to the ground. Stepping in, she moved her right sword to slice at his hip, but his own blade blocked crosswise, and he jumped backward, swinging his arm in a tight circle that locked her blade into its motion, forcing her to drop it.

The whole thing took less than two seconds, and already she was without one of her swords. Skali exhaled, realizing sheā€™d been holding her breath the entire time. Shifting her remaining blade to her dominant hand, she chuckled, low and dangerous. She was going to die today no matter what she did, but oh, how the challenge called to her.

Tao stood five feet from her, unmoving and apparently willing to wait until she attacked again. Their confrontation had already gained the attention of a few of the nearby soldiers, well aware that the captains of the squads of Civil and the Children were dueling. Maybe it was a bit superstitious, but such things had the tendency to portend the fate of the greater conflict, did they not?

Skali side-eyed her troops. ā€œIf youā€™re going to watch, make sure you learn,ā€ she deadpanned, and strafed forward with considerable velocity. Tao sidestepped, their swords meeting when they drew alongside each other. Carefully avoiding a deadlock he was sure to win, Skali moved past it, whirling around to face him even as Tao echoed the movement in perfect unison. He was quicker in the recovery though, and she had to backpedal to keep up with his next round of strikes, parrying furiously and delivering a solid kick to his shin just as he shifted weight to step forward again. The slight hitch in his movement allowed her an opportunity, and she righted herself, slashing for his midsection whip-quick. He was faster, and what would have been a fatal blow was reduced to a nick, his blood slightly darker than the red brigandine it seeped into. Sheā€™d hit him right where the armor was laced, as he did not wear the complete set of mirror-mail, presumably for lightness.

She reversed direction and crouched into her next blow, aimed for his feet. He jumped, and she used the time to advance, windmilling her arms alternately as she drove him back with three successive upward slices. None hit, but she had him off-balance now.

He launched himself backward, drawing the pommel of his sword to his chest, thrusting outward with it as he moved forward again. Skaliā€™s eyes went wide, and it was all she could do to dive out of the way, rolling to her feet in time to meet his next downward blow with her sword. The kick he delivered to her midsection was backed with a great deal of centripedal force, though, and his wooden sandal collided hard with her sternum. She felt the bone crack and splinter with the force of his supernatural strength, but that blow had been placed well enough that it probably would have broken either way. She had to admire that.

Pushing past the agony, Skali shoved backward on their joined blades with everything she had, which must have been considerably more than he was expecting, for he gave enough ground for her to stand properly, wincing as she attempted to pull more air into her lungs. It was a nearly-unbearable sensation, like her lungs were being rent with splinters of her bone, which they probably were.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Skali knew that she had one more pass left in her at most, and she needed to make it count. She had one thing going for her, though: this man was not aware of the fact that she knew she was going to be dead by the end of today. Her self-preservation instinct was all that stopped her from something suicidal until now, but all of that was slowly wearing away to be replaced with the grim certainty of death.

ā€œIā€™ve always wondered,ā€ his voice, strangely hollow- though his eyes had sparked to life after she drew his blood- broke her from her reverie. ā€œWhat it felt like to die.ā€

Skali laughed, a sound that turned into a cough. She ignored the blood that dribbled down her chin and smirked at him. ā€œIā€™ll make you a deal, Tao. I make it to hell first, and Iā€™ll be sure to tell you when you arrive. Just in case they get you with poison or something stupid like old age.ā€

A barely-perceptible tilt graced the edges of his lips, and she thought idly that if it were an expression more common to him, he might be considered attractive. She put this down to blood loss and shook her head to clear it. ā€œIā€™ll take you up on that,ā€ he agreed, flicking his wrist sharply so that most of the ichor left his liuyedao.

The scarred woman said no more, rushing forward in a reckless move that left her defenses wide open. His face registered nothing further, even as her blade cleaved into his right shoulder, the force of desperation separating the limb from its stump even as his sword slid smoothly into the exposed flesh of her neck, parting her head from her shoulders. The arterial spray coated his face and chest, but he scarcely even blinked.

Tao bent, picking his severed arm up off the ground, showing no external sign of what must have been agonizing pain. Blood welled freely from his shoulder, flooding copiously onto the ground. Looking over at the watchers, who had grown in number to encompass just about everybody he could see, he blinked slowly. ā€œBest finish as soon as we can,ā€ he told his troops, slipping into the ranks of children to seek out Carmen before he could faint from the loss of blood.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kisikoni Ayalen Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Jivven Noda'Razzr Character Portrait: Liliana Bloodleaf Character Portrait: The Sunwings
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Jivven Noda'Razzr


Jivven tried his best to avoid the rolling ball of feathers and steel that was Shasarra, but she still managed to clip him and bring him to the ground. He jerked his head violently to the side to avoid the spear that was looking to turn his head into a kebab. Following up, Jivven grabbed the shaft of the spear and dug his sword into the ground as leverage to bring his legs and torso off of the ground, up, and over Jivven, delivering a massive mule kick to the deep human lady wielding the spear. The sudden reversal and contortion (made all that more impressive by the fact that they were on a hill) of the assassin's entire body caught the woman off guard and likewise brought her to the ground with Jivven now perched on top of her chest like a bird of prey. He brought his shortsword down, digging deep into her belly and ending her existence.

Jivven popped up and regained his bearings before he caught the eyes a nearby woman. He winked and added, "Impressed? Imagine me in bed!" he cackled, picking up the spear and chucking it into the Civil forces. Now that the present was wrapped up, he should go check on Shasarra. He followed the path of her rolling and came upon the sight of the injured harpy being tended to by Carmen. She must have gotten there while Jivven performed his acrobat trick. Still, she'd be a lot more useful than he was. Jivven looked back to where Shasarra had come from and saw that Tao had challenged the offending captain.

He patted the shoulder of Carmen and said, "I'll go see what I can do for the Captain. Keep safe, hmm?" Jivven said before striding off back up the hill. With a sudden surge of soldiers' bodies, the assassin vanished. The only hint of the assassin's path was the odd soldier falling down dead with his throat slit or pierced. The fallen soldiers painted a dotted line towards the battle between captains.

That air headed craven of a captain Tao might not have been interested about the world, but the world surely took interest in him. All that better for the assassin. Sure, Jivven could have struck out and aided the Captain, but the assassin didn't want to rob the man of his chosen mark. It's never good sport to steal another's kill. However, taking out those that watched the spectacle? That was fair game. As Tao fought his battle in the light, Jivven fought his in the dark. The circle around the contestants proved easy prey.

ā€œIf youā€™re going to watch, make sure you learn.ā€

A shame that they some wouldn't be able to implement what they learned. The assassin ducked low on and skulked between the shadows cast by the watchers. He took out a soldier, a shortsword separating the vertebrae of the neck and streaking into the brain stem. He didn't even know he was dead. His companions looked for the assailant, but none was there-- only shadows. More dropped in likewise fashion around the circle, up until the end of the battle. Tao had won, but at great cost. His arm. That signaled the end of the assassin's excursion as well, and he began to drop back to his lines.

The way back had been more difficult than the way in. It took every ounce of guile, as well as a couple of gouts of fire, the assassin possessed to dance back to his lines. He flowed under swords, blew past spears, ducked under axes, lashing out when he could. He managed to return to his lines, with a deep cut on his shoulder, a bruised cheek, and the bottom half of the leather plates on his chest cut away.

He'd need a new outfit soon, but he was alive. That much couldn't be said of his victims




Liliana Bloodleaf


"Bloody fuck!" Lily vehemently swore. She knew where she had shot, she had timed it perfectly. The last thing she expected was the damned thing catching her bloody arrow. She reached down picked up another, the first of her last two arrows, and readied it, completely ignoring the thing's insults and promises. She was killing the thing for making the huntress look like a simple green archer. Oh, the vampire had managed to rouse the elf's fury. One didn't tend to live long after that. She had the arrow nocked and drew as the vampire continued to talk, but if she had listened to his words, she would have realized the futility of her next actions. As it was, when the vampire vanished in the crimson veil, Lily's arrow soared right through the spot he had been, tearing into an undead whose vast misfortune had placed it in the errant path of the white fletched arrow.

Lily's vision erupted in a red haze. "What?! Are you serious! That's not even fair!" She yelled at no one in particular, snatching her last arrow from the ground and nocking it. Anger guided the normally composed hands of the huntress as she overdrew the bow, causing it dangerously protest, and let loose on the closest creature she could find. Her arrow buried itself up to the fletching in the eye of a Civil scout. A shame she couldn't hear his screams, it might have taken the edge off of her anger. Instead, she drew her saber and prepared for close-combat.




Adel & Landion

Adel and Landion was the first to see the General. Their search of the vampire had brought them into the camp camp. Both archers weren't stupid, they knew the outlook was grim back there. Once their vampire hunt became futile, they had began to put arrows into trying to help and quell the issue. But upon sight of Wrath, both felt a sense of relief and optmism. If the General was up and about, it wouldn't be long before they brought the fight to the Civil dogs. "Landion, get some quivers of arrows. We're going to need them," She grinned.

Landion returned the grin and set off about his task. Their day wasn't done yet, things were just about to become fun.




Zyn

"Yo, Turha! Is that the General? He's a damn sight for sore eyes," Zyn called between shots. He still had a golem mounted, unwilling to relinquish his mighty position. In a pause between arrows Zyn managed a salute off towards the general before nocking the next arrow. As he reached back, he became increasingly aware of his dwindling supply. "Damn it," he uttered. At a rate like this, he'd have to dismount the golem and engage in hand-to-hand. He didn't like the thought of that with those dogs running around.

"Hey, Zyn! Catch!" He turned just in time to catch a bundle of arrows held together by twine. "Adel? What are-" He had just placed the arrows back into his quiver when the golem lurched forward behind their general. It seemed like he was getting a free ride to the front lines... His lips curled dangerously around the corners, as he muttered, "Know us and fear."




Lily had slung her bow across her back and had engaged into close-combat with her saber. She was in no way rivalling Thanaros's level of destruction but she managed to hold her own. Her blade was slick from the blood of her enemies, but she had taken a couple of shots herself. Her right sleeve was entirely gone, a thin cut reveled flesh on her belly and a line of red, and blood flowed freely from a cut on her cheek. But she wasn't giving up just yet. She had her saber angled for an assault when something stopped her.

It the golems. What were they doing up here? And was that Zyn? She turned back for answers just in time to catch the bundle of arrows thrown at her. Adel beamed and surged forward behind the golems with Landion in tow. Even the silent elf seemed to have brightened at the sudden turn of events. Lily hesitated, confused as to what transpired. Then Wrath appeared. She returned his nod, adding, "About time." Then her gaze flew past Wrath and behind, "Oh, I see you brought me a present," She said looking at Turha.

As she approached him, Wrath stated how "It was their turn."

Lily couldn't agree more. She sheathed her saber and gave Turha a peck on the cheek, saying, "So nice of you to join us, love." She then drew her bow once more and nocked the first of many arrows and settled into a stance beside Turha. She had never been more comfortable on a battlefield.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Kisikoni Ayalen Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Mercy Yan'vega Character Portrait: Neira Valtegan
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#, as written by Arke
Kisikoni Ayalen
The Paragon


Image
Image
The nightmaggot managed to trap it as it attempted to escape from his claws. His eyes widened as the nails sunk an inch into his chest, allowing a splash of dark liquid to fall from his chest. So much for the reliable Blackguard Armor. Hissing, it lashed out just as Cristophe jumped back, his breezy confidence returning as he made a smart remark and retreated. Even as the wounds stitched themselves up grotesquely and the growths began to retreat back into the chinks in the armor, Kisikoni could only fall to his knees in disbelief. It was one lone vampire, a single night hunter, and he couldn't beat it. Thanaros had been able to overpower and decapitate Amaryliss. Granted, he had assistance from Lily, but so did he. Punching the ground, Kisikoni could only beg an answer for the reason why he was just so weak. He had thrown away so much because he wanted power. It was the reason Pel lost her life. She would have been much more useful in this accursed battle than he could have been.

He had barely registered that Wrath had passed earlier, and that Lily left to join the attack, but Kisikoni could not summon the will to join them. His temper flared suddenly after smoldering for a few precious seconds. This is all your fault. You promised me power. Where is it? There was no answer. It never answered when he was asking. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed at the ground blindly until his hands clasped the crossguard of the blade, cutting his finger slightly on the enchanted butterfly sword. Rage at his enemies, the thing in his head, and predominantly himself. Ripping away the destroyed armor, he decided he didn't need it anymore. The disgusting worm in his head wouldn't let him die so a sword through the gut shouldn't matter too much. Standing, he grabbed one of the potions Talae had given him from his belt, and numbly crushed the frail bottle over his mouth and let the contents drip in. Simply using the potion caused Kisikoni's anger to flare-- once again only at himself for being so dependent. He wasn't a god damn toddler. Feeling slightly rejuvenated, he began stalking toward the front lines. The tiny shards of glass began pulling themselves out of his flesh and falling to the ground.

As he walked past the heaps of dead Civil and Paragon, he reached out and grabbed a wooden mace with iron spike bands without pause to replace his lost brother sword. Shoving his way roughly to the front lines, Kisikoni let out a battlecry as he dove headfirst into the enemies with abandon. He cut and slashed, and crushed every enemy in his way with complete disregard for strategy. Every cut, bruise, or magical wound he sustained was healed within seconds, sapping away at the deep human's reserves of flagging strength. Kisikoni didn't care, even as he continued to fight with a dagger sticking out of his side, he only had one thought running through his head: I don't want to be weak.




Mercy Yan'vega
The Paragon


Image It seemed as though the Gravewurms were endless in how many bodies they reanimated. It was very annoying to bring down one after the other, especially when she recognized some of the poor souls that were forced back into a perverted state of living. Her whip was dyed a polished red, sprays of blood flying off the tip as it screamed through the air in it's familiar circular motion. The wurms entry points often left the structural integrity of the legionnaires they possessed weak, which was very useful for simple decapitations or incapacitations done by her whip alone. Mercy was about to fall into her familiar rhythm before she was contacted by a familiar presence.

"Oh, Neira! I was looking for you!" She said happily to nobody in particular. "I was beginning to think you got assassinated. Well then, I'll see you tonight!" She immediately broke contact with the shambling undead, coating the ground in front of them with webbing. That will slow them down, at least. It looks like they were making one last hurrah for the Civil, and everybody was pulling out all the stops. Frankly, she was quite surprised that they haven't retreated or died yet, considering everything being thrown at them. "Oh bother. I hope my little brat knows what he's doing, letting them flank us from behind like this." She huffed, looking behind her every so often to make sure she wasn't about to get stabbed from behind. The Blackgards seem to be completely devoted to the offense. So the strategy was to make it to the heart of their camp before they get crushed from behind. Sometimes she had doubts on just how much of his father the boy inherited from him. Then again, there was a reason why the drunken spider and her luminous red eyes wasn't a commanding officer of the army. Not in a great sense.

With her allies rushing with her, she only whimpered and attempted to get in the rhythm of things once more.




Safir Garethson
The Children of Fire
Image


Though he trailed behind his fellow comrades in the fight, he didn't fight any less hard. In an attempt to catch up, the great swinging motions that lopped heads off the Civil became much more frequent and he allowed his armor to take the lesser blows. The shield remained his greatest asset, as he easily parried and blocked any heavy blow that came at him, and even with these undead soldiers and their sentient thought, they would not be able to best the armored knight in a battle, not even in a group. The sparse gouts of dragonfire he loosed would always burn the soldiers to a crisp, and in such tight quarters there was simply no escaping the rolling flames that consumed nearly everything in it's path.

However, when Safir felt the battle slow noticeably, he in turn slackened his aggressive blows. He noted that most of the attention was focused on a duel, and the battle at hand had almost become a secondary objective. Safir didn't blame them- the battle was truly a show of skill on their captain's part, and at the same time a great representative of the tenacity of the Civil in Skali's side. There was no loser here, just a dead woman and a wounded Captain. He didn't watch as Tao left the field of battle to seek a medic for his wayward arm, but rather begun his assault once more, inspired by what transpired not seconds ago. Safir learned just how much he had to learn, and there weren't enough battles in the world for him to reach the level of mastery that he saw just then, in his opinion.

"Well now, that doesn't mean that I can't try!" He roared in vicious delight as he redoubled his efforts once more, cutting swathes of enemies down with practiced motions.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Kisikoni Ayalen Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Neira Valtegan
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The Paragon
Southern Front

Alistair Razoredge was the kind of man who used to be considered a fool among fools. A white-winged royal, heā€™d run away from his life as warlord and his choice of consorts to join a mercenary band. He was, despite his extensive weapons training and considerable skill, not a violent individual at heart but a peaceful one, almost a scholar, if the idea of a harpy scholar was not so ridiculous. He was also aware, and repeatedly reminded, that with the right disguise, he could easily pass for a woman, between the fine-boned features and the unusually clean snowy hair.

It had been nearly impossible to unite the scattered harpy clans into a single fighting force, much less under his own banner, and yet somehow, heā€™d managed to do it. The dozens of duels heā€™d fought with his territorial kinsmen were evident in the scars which seemed now to crosshatch his porcelain complexion, from sword-cuts to blunt wounds from maces and old burns from near-miss flame spells. Heā€™d endured them all, and each one had been well worth it for this moment alone.

For all that he had been born and raised upon craggy cliffs over the sea, it was here that he could at last say he was coming home, for it was the people that made it so. His sharp vision picked out Sid below, and beside her Thanaros, the once-captain Wrath, and Neira the nightmarian. Another area held dear Lily, arrows flying from her bow with customary speed and accuracy, and he was certain that the surviving Shanir sister, Talae, was atop a horse, riding tandem with a man he did not recognize. He could not, unfortunately, spot Kisikoni, and he hoped his old friend was not dead.

The other half of his forces, led by a warlady called Keshiryn, would be coming up behind the lines of the Children of Fire, but from up here, it was easy to tell that the servants of the Black formed the second half of an impressive pincer maneuver, and so his orders were to prioritize the success of the attack on the Civil.

It was then that chaos needled its way into his carefully-organized lines. Were he not so well-educated, he might not have recognized gravewurms when he saw them, but as it was, he needed to control the damage. ā€œShamans! Burn anything infected with those wurms, including our own! Do not hesitate! We are lost the moment they infect us. Everyone else, get clear of the area! Ranged weapons only- you will not be the tools of necromancers today!ā€

The response was immediate: the infected parties went up in flames, those still enough in their own minds dropped their weapons to accept it. Loss was necessary, and honor to the clan more important than pain, than life-the militant nature of harpy upbringing instilled this early. The rest took to the skies, drawing bows or magic where necessary, and Alistair extracted as many of his people as he could, but there was no mistaking that many were too far away to heed his calls. Salvaging who he was able, he directed anyone still hale and whole to join the Paragon lines, leaving the rest to the command of their own captains. Warlord he might be now, but loyalty was still first and foremost to oneā€™s own local leaders.

It was with heavy heart that he as well took wing, but there was no time to worry about the others now. If they could get out, he had to believe that they would, but he could not risk everyone else falling victim to the wurms.

Drawing his own bow, he swooped into the fray, firing and puncturing a Civil soldier right through the eye. Alighting near an old friend, he gave her a gentle smile. ā€œLong has it been, Miss Lily,ā€ he said by way of greeting, drawing the end of another arrow back to his cheek and releasing. ā€œThough-ā€ he fired- ā€œI hear itā€™s Captain now.ā€


Neira only understood some of what was going on, but all the same, her eyes narrowed. Sheā€™d lingered behind with the general and the captain, and even now glanced between them, suspicion lighting her gaze. She would not plunder his mind for the information, but that didnā€™t stop her from knowing that he told the truth.

Pleading with Sid was useless, though; the halfling was a little too emotional and bullheaded for that to work. So, she tried Thanaros instead. Donā€™t.

I must, he replied simply, shooting the captain a glance. So he sensed what she sensed then.

Neiraā€™s lips curled in something between a snarl and a grimace, and she glared at him for several seconds. There is no must. There is always more than one option. Always.

The half-orc gave her a sad sort of smile, and she scoffed. But he was apparently just as immovable as Sid on this point, and she grit her teeth, smoothing her face into impassivity. Fine. If itā€™s really what you want. Try not to die, Thanaros. He nodded sagely, and Neira heaved a sigh. Useless sentiment, that she couldnā€™t help but be angry with him.

Snapping off her first real salute in decades, she turned away from the two departing officers and to the general. ā€œCome on. Five minutes isnā€™t long, and you and I have a lot of killing to do in between now and then.ā€


Talae drew in a deep breath. Nothing. At least one of her ribs was cracked, and several shallow wounds were bleeding sluggishly, but she felt nothing. A slight twinge in her side when she inhaled, but no pain. Shaking her head, she drew a red substance from her bandoleer and took out the cork of the vial with her teeth, downing the substance in a quick draught. Hypercoagulant, to slow the bleeding even further, outright stop it if she were lucky. She might feel no more pain from her wounds, but that wouldnā€™t stop blood loss from killing her.

Where was he? Sheā€™d lost track of the folk suffering from the unique panic Kisikoni could induce because by this point, a large number of people were panicking, and her odds of finding him now were unpleasantly low.

As if in answer to her thoughts, Salim rode up next to her, and she paused to consider his offer for only a brief second before leaping astride his horse. She nodded to his men, though not without wondering when and where heā€™d acquired them, and they were about to ride off when Fakā€™ir and Asera appeared at her side.

ā€œWe ride in your shadow, captain,ā€ the halfling pronounced, and Asera nodded eagerly.

Talae was torn, but did not show it. ā€œFine. But make sure you stay in it. All of you.ā€ The last was directed pointedly at Asera, the youngest and most impulsive member of her squad. With almost all of the fighting head-on at the moment, they wouldnā€™t be as much use as normal to the frontal charge, but this sort of thing was what they were trained for. Both nodded, and disappeared with a flick of Fakā€™irā€™s wrist, pulled into his shadow magic and rendered invisible.

ā€œLetā€™s go.ā€ Salim grinned and spurred his horse forward, the ten cavalry units skirted the edges of the field, delayed only once to deal with a small group of Civil that had become separated from the main line. Fakā€™ir and other members of her team flickered in and out of visibility, and her heart, or what little was left of it, swelled with pride. Yes, they would be fine when she- now is not the time, Shanir. Keep your head on straight.

Within minutes, theyā€™d reached the pocket of Death Knight resistance, the fighting here much more pitched than it was elsewhere, though Paragon soldiers were dropping like insects. An uncanny aura of foreboding hung over the area, and she reflected that Kisikoniā€™s more questionable abilities seemed to have amplified considerably since the last time they were on the same field.

ā€œThank you,ā€ she murmured to Salim, leaping from his horse the moment she was close enough to see him. Or rather, what was left of him. The sight of the transformation was not what bothered her, though she would not hesitate to admit that she was afraid. What frightened her most, though, was that she had no idea how much of this being was even her partner anymore. Some of it had to be, though, and that was what allowed her to continue forward resolutely, pulling a smoke bomb from one of the pouches at her belt. She doubted darkness would be a problem for whatever the creature was, and she knew that deep humans were well-adapted to it. It would only be an advantage for herself and her squad, and she tossed the thing into the fray without hesitation, hefting Abel in one hand and drawing a long, serrated blade with the other.

Charging forward, she managed to get the attention of Kil, drawing him away from his rush towards Koni. Fakiā€™ir, Asera, and Merin, an elven skirmisher with a flamberge, intercepted Ruv, the three of them moving in perfect concert, knowing that to attempt a full-on brawl with someone so heavily-armored would be a mistake for saboteurs like themselves.

Talae had no such reservations. Spinning her knife in one hand, she advanced, utterly silent but unmistakably angry.


The Children of Fire
Northern Front


Carmen inhaled sharply, the blood gushing from Taoā€™s arm a direct shot to her chest cavity. Running forward without the slightest heed for herself, she murmured soothing platitudes- though more for herself than he- as she examined the wound. Yes, she should be able to reattach the-

Suddenly, her oldest friend was torn from her grasp, Aesr cauterizing the wound beyond her ability to repair, and Carmen nearly wept from her new position in the dirt, where the dragon had shoved her. Tao would be forever a cripple, and she could have stopped it. Smiling darkly, in a way that sent shudders down the healerā€™s spine, the Captain simply nodded to Aesr and about-faced to rejoin the fray.

The dragon spread her arms wide- attend to me, for I am all that counts- and Carmenā€™s facial expression hardened, closing off until none of her customary gentleness or openness remained. She found, with dismay, that she hated Aesr in that moment, and one of her hands curled into a fist beneath her sleeve. Tao would only have one of those now, all because ofā€¦ the clericā€™s shoulders slumped. Not yet; everything was too soon, and she couldnā€™t ruin it. Her friends still needed her.

Carmen rose with all the dignity she could muster, brushed herself off, and stepped forward, casting silently, watching with baleful eyes as the dragonā€™s wounds closed up and she hissed with satisfaction, probably from the refreshed and warm feeling the magic tended to produce. Carmenā€™s eyes fell to the ground, and she did not move them from there until Aesr was off, back into the fight with renewed vigor, screeching her defiance at her foes.

A tiny seed of self-loathing bloomed in the healerā€™s breast right then, and it was all she could do not to vomit. Forgive me.


The Wraiths were wreaking havoc on the Childrenā€™s lines, but what Aesr had not realized was that the fact that her troops had been slowed with his duel and then his temporary disappearance was now proving to be an advantage. They were able to take their pick of situations, swoop in, deal heavy damage, and get out.

This was the way of things for several rounds, but at last it came time to make their final push for Nhil Darenthiā€™s encampment. Tao, the right side of his robe burned off when Aesr so helpfully cauterized his wound with her breath weapon, looked at once like a man worn down and one entirely unfazed. His body was battered, there was no mistaking that, but his rate had not faltered. Adjusting for the lack of an arm was unexpected, but since it was his non-dominant one anyway, it simply required more cross-blocking and a bit of balance adjustment. The first few whoā€™d thought to kill the cripple had met slightly sloppier ends for it, but besides that, he appeared unchanged.

He was not, but the difference was less physical than mental.

Rallying the troops he had left (which was still quite he substantial number and managed to include most of the best soldiers in his division), he led the group forward, stressing that speed was of great importance. The less opportunity the Civil had to regroup or unleash the next wave of horror, the better. They were through most of the undead muck now, though there were still Wraths in the area, and the path to the Civil encampment was a straight shot, as an arrow flies.

ā€œHold formation, keep each other alive, and kill anything that stands in your way.ā€ Taoā€™s orders were soft and curt, relayed down the line with precision. They charged, met by Civil who picked their targets carefully. One man went right for Pylarea, and another two closed on Jivven. One of these was met with the business end of a mace from the orc standing beside the darkling, but the other danced out of the way without difficulty. Daesino Alfangor was an old man, even by the standards of dark elves, but he had seen the youngling claiming to understand his art from a distance a way, and resolved to show him exactly what shadowdancing was supposed to look like before he was killed in this mad rush. Passing the art on to the enemy was better than letting it die, especially since battle was the only way to do so.

Safir and Shasarra were targeted by what appeared to be a team of slash-and-dash fighters, their speed and agility far outstripping their strength, and their cunning beating both of those traits by a hair. The four-person team were grinning like madmen as they rushed the knight and the harpy.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Safir Garethson Character Portrait: Blackguard and Aesr characters Character Portrait: Kisikoni Ayalen Character Portrait: Important Characters of Norr Character Portrait: Feng Tao Character Portrait: Mercy Yan'vega
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The Children of Fire
Northern Lines


ā€œMy name is Daesino Alfangor, and my family invented your art. I have been a master since before you were a thought in your motherā€™s head, youngling.ā€ The tones of the return greeting were far from accusatory or arrogant; indeed, there seemed almost to be a wistful sadness in them. I am also old, older than I should be, and ready to leave this world. Still, the last Alfangor could not slough off his mortal coil without knowing for certain that at last one remained who knew his techniques truly. If this child were to have that knowledge, that intuitive understanding of shadow that could not be taught, then Daesino would be only too happy to fall by his hand.

Still, there were a few things he could impart first, in the only way heā€™d been taught: in blood-lines, scored into flesh, reminders of every errant folly. He was covered in innumerable small scars, as would this young Nodaā€™Razzr be, if he was worthy of them.

Jivvenā€™s first swing met with only empty air, Daesino flowing away from it as though heā€™ known exactly where it would be. Flickering, the dark elf seemed to vanish from sight, the only mark of his passage a new, light nick on his opponentā€™s spear arm. Perhaps surprisingly, he did not press his advantage or try to cut any deeper.

ā€œAgain, only as though you mean it this time.ā€



Shasarraā€™s last throwing dagger buried itself in the arm of the encroaching skirmisher, and the one opposite him fell under the weight of Safirā€™s shield-bash, her nose shattered and blood pooling in her mouth. Spitting it, she tried to recover and scramble to her feet, but a heavy blow from a mace caved her skull in, and she crumpled like a week-dead leaf underfoot.

Gorthax grimaced appreciatively, nodding to Safir, Shasarra, and Vortigern, who, approaching from the other end, had finished off the harpyā€™s opponent with a savage grin and a swift axe-blow to the back. ā€œWeā€™re forginā€™ ahead,ā€ the too-tall elf volunteered, ā€œbut weā€™re supposed ta stay well clear oā€™ that.ā€ He pointed to where the lich was unleashing its fel magic over wide swaths of Children less pragmatic than they. ā€œOrders are to make a push for the camp, as soon as we can.ā€

That, of course, would be easier said than done. With the lich making a chaotic mess of the field, getting around it would mean walking into a pocket of Civil resistance fortified by the late-game appearance of a creature from draconian legend. Indeed, even as the group turned to meet their oncoming assailants, a fair mix of magi and elite physical combatants, there was no mistaking that these were not mindless undead or frightened rookies. Many of them were once members of Nhilā€™s personal honor guard alongside Daesino, though in his state he had precious little use for them anymore, and now they marched to battle like the rest.

ā€œCome on, ladies and gents, letā€™s get while the gettinā€™s still good!ā€ Vortigern at least seemed unfazed by the caliber of their new opponents, focused only on the next move, the next breath and swing and strike, and making it to their destination.



The man without a right arm soon found himself in the rather interesting company of a semicircle of magi, dodging spells with a rare alacrity that presented itself as careless abandon. At his back, the red-robed cleric shot off spells of her own, eying the lich with the air of someone driven quite nearly to distraction.

It felt so wrong to her every sense, but her loyalty was to these people here, and she would not allow herself to fail them any worse than she already had. A hand gesture forced holy magic into the very pores of the nearest magician, and the light seared him from the inside out, as though rending his soul before his body. Their advance had slowed, too slow now for comfort, but at the very least the lich had not reached them, and she would ensure that it did not, even if it managed to work through the swarms of Children that rushed it now.

Slow their progress might be, she reflected as Tao sliced through the last mage, but it was still inexorable. She had faith, real faith, that her friends were strong enough to make it, and she could not help but feel that the emphasis the captain always placed on supporting each other in his orders and his strategies was the right one. She had known groups of Children unable to take advantage of the bonds their initiations created, who were still competitive and individualistic even when they were supposed to be working together.

But not them. Not this squad. She could not bring herself to call them the Aesr, for the hatchling had nothing to do with it. They were many, and they were mightier than the sum of their parts. Somehow, she knew with certainty that only this would save them, in the end.



Thereafter, Captain Tao took his first step within the bounds of the Civil camp, and his squad with him. They had reached their goal, and now all that remained was to see what awaited them there.



The Paragon
Southern Lines

Alistair chuckled as he slung his bow over his back, donating half his remaining white-fletched arrows to Lilyā€™s quiver in a smooth motion. The other ten, he kept simply to ensure that he would not be caught flat-footed at any time during the battle, but his true skill had always been with polearms, and his wickedly-pronged trident was in his hand momentarily, a wide arcing swing tearing a Civil soldier from navel to sternum, leather armor entirely notwithstanding.

ā€œI am ever and always just Alistair to my friends. Rest assured that I wouldnā€™t miss it for The Gift itself,ā€ he replied sagely, rotating his body and plunging the spear into the next womanā€™s neck.

It was then that the call came for the Blackguard to form up near Wrath, and for the barest of seconds, Alistair hesitated, looking to the sky. His kith and kin were being devastated by what appeared to be a siege weapon, fueled by unholy magic. He knew with grim certainty that there was nothing he could do for them, though each life snuffed was another weight on his shoulders. But, if Wrath and his legion could reach the camp, than their deaths would not be for nothing, and those that remained could be saved.

Alistair was in the air again like a shot, joining the formation and standing beside his old comrades once more. Time away from them had only made their continued fight more imperative in his eyes. Not all of his people agreed, and many were more inclined towards the elusive forces of the Savage.

He would show them that they were wrong.



Neira stifled a full-throated laugh at the spectacle of Wrath being treated entirely like a child by his mother, cracking a rare smile and waving at Mercy as the spider took off. Neira flanked the both of them, and it was not long before they and a few others managed to break free of the fighting and head into the camp.

Her consciousness alighted upon something most strange, then- a mind made like water or slick glass, one that she would not be able to manipulate without significant effort, if then. At first he wondered if this was Nhil, but the vampire sheā€™d tagged, Gertz, was nowhere in his vicinity. Instead, she sensed that there were dozens of soldiers at his back, and at least one psychic.

ā€œThe Children have reached the edge of the camp,ā€ she warned, even as the white-winged harpy arrived, a figure familiar to her as one of the few decent sparring partners sheā€™d had back before her promotion. They were soon joined by three others, including Shanir and Ayalen, but she paid them small heed as they continued their march for Nhilā€™s tent, through the strangely-empty camp. Oh hell. This is going to go badly, isnā€™t it?



ā€œI abandoned any notion of honor long ago, and the only sovereigns who hold my loyalty are the people I care for,ā€ Talae replied to the Death Knight, uninterested in his hangups or his prejudice. Men who would be still corpses clung to all manner of foolish things, she knew that.

Before she could strike, Salim stepped in, and her tongue was halfway to forming the words of a harsh rebuke when he was struck, and they left her in a muted hiss. Before she could properly formulate a reaction to the new circumstances, she as pulled into a circle of teleportation, and attempted to hold onto her last meal as she, Koni, and Asera were pulled through time-space and deposited, rather unceremoniously, somewhere a short distance behind Wrath and the small squad he now led toward the center of the Civil encampment. Salim was not present, and she gritted her teeth, shaking her head and pulling herself to her feet-

-and finding herself in Kisikoniā€™s grip. Was the fact that she could actually feel that, feel the hands about her upper arms, psychosomatic? It hardly mattered, but the realization left her unable to properly formulate any kind of response. Then he kissed her, and Talaeā€™s hands gently cupped either side of his face, and how she wished that were enough. She caught his wrist as he turned, and her words were nearly whispered. She had been keeping two very important things from him, but at least one of them was secret no longer.

ā€œIā€¦ I love you too. Stay alive, Koni, please. Stay you, regardless of what your body becomes.ā€ The other thing would have to wait, assuming they both came out of this alive. ā€œI couldnā€™t bear to lose you as well.ā€ And there it was, her greatest fear laid bare: that everything she ever loved would be torn from her in the same violent manner. Her parents, her best friend and erstwhile teacher Caine, her sister Fae. Talae had always tried to be realistic about what she could achieve and what she could not, and she knew with fatalistic certainty that she would not be able to withstand the weight of another loss. Especially not him.

The dark elf's lips tilted in a small, sad smile, and she released him, taking up her weapons and gesturing for Asera to follow her once more into the shadows of the battle, striking the few foes that thought to flank the main party as they progressed inexorably towards whatever awaited them at the center.